


Too Old To Die Young

by MarionetteFtHJM



Category: South Park
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst, Background Relationships, Background stan/butters, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Cartman is mentioned but i dont give him any lines, Cosmic joke kenny, Europe, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Idk its a lot for a first, M/M, Magical Realism, Mentions of past kenny/others, Murder, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Pining, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Standard gay sex tags apply lmao, Standard south park slurs and language, Top Kyle Broflovski, Underage Drinking, Urban Fantasy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 70,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarionetteFtHJM/pseuds/MarionetteFtHJM
Summary: Kenny was used to people not noticing that he was gone. It was fine. And when, after an unfortunate accident, Kyle starts noticing - that's fine, too. What's not fine is that instead of waking up in his room when he resurrects he keeps waking up next to Kyle. That's - that's mostly fine, as well. What's not fine is that Kyle is leaving for Europe in a couple of weeks and Kenny might just be forced to go with him.Unfortunate considering his massive and stupid crush on the mouthy redhead.





	Too Old To Die Young

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse. My first south park fic after i binged the entirety of the show twice during winter this year. It was originally supposed to be Kenny/Craig but the coin toss said k2 so here we are.  
> In short? This is your not-so-typical roadtrip fic with a lot of dying, pining and some action near the end.  
> Mind the tags and enjoy!

Kenny could easily predict everyone’s future – _not_ in that weird spiritual way fortune-tellers try to sell you your woes as only temporary and unimportant in the long run, no. His predictions are based solely on the personalities of those surrounding him in his everyday life, on their dreams and convictions and aspirations. They’re just his assumptions, really, but he likes the ring of _‘predictions’_ better.

That’s why it had taken him a good week to come to terms with the fact that Kyle Broflovski, _his_ Kyle, had gotten a job at the shitty _H &M_ store that had opened up at the mall this year. He’d gotten a job someplace that had allowed _Kenny_ to work, the same retail position and everything.

It made absolutely no sense. He never, not in a million years, thought that Kyle would have to work a day in his life before finishing college. But there they were, start of senior year, employed and too busy to indulge Cartman’s bullshit due to their afternoon shifts.

At first, he’d been offended. How could Kyle, _the_ Kyle, step outside the perfectly polished glass box everyone put him into and into Kenny’s float-y space reserved for people who never followed the norm like: Craig or, fuckin’ _Butters_ even? Kyle had _no right_ to debunk Kenny’s carefully constructed house of tarot cards that he’d constructed for all of his friends and acquaintances.

Each tier of his tarot-card house was carefully thought out and went a little like-

Stan, verging on a nervous breakdown (one lost football game away from popping the pigskin ball and throwing in the shoulder pads), will say _fuck it_ and join the Missionaries to go teach English and Christianity to the underprivileged children of some Third World country. Maybe this sounded a little far-fetched, but Stan _has_ been talking about wanting to do something _more_ , something _bigger_ – more important than plain ol’ college. Then he’d come back, all _holier than thou_ and bragging about all the good shit he’d done and someone (probably either Kenny himself or Clyde) would punch him in the gut, tell him to stop being a bitch and welcome him back to South Park. He will probably go into Greenpeace after that, again. Maybe campaign for PETA and live out his dream of starting a shelter for animals.

Cartman, the fat fuck. Kenny bets Cartman will join the US military. As surprising as it may seem, the man’s psychotic nature would come in handy to their country’s security operatives. He’ll probably start with the marines and eventually end up in spec ops or something of the like. He’ll get shot, that’s for sure, for mouthing off at terrorists, too. He’d come back for their reunion to take a shot at punching Stan in the gut for being a self-righteous asshole. He doesn’t see many good things in Cartman’s future, lots of deaths for sure and he knows a thing or two about those. He sees, well, _hopes_ Cartman ends up dying alone. A little harsh but not unreasonable for how Eric’s acted during all these years. It won’t happen, though. The fatass will rope some poor soul into becoming his life partner sooner or later.

Butters, who (much to everyone’s surprise) broke out into a rebellious phase in his early teens, will probably fuck off after Stan just to annoy the shit out of him like he seems to enjoy doing on the daily now. It’s nothing malicious. Personally, Kenny thinks (more like _knows)_ Butters has a big fat crush on Stan and is enjoying pulling the quarterback’s metaphorical pigtails. He’ll find a way to join Stanley in his Missionary work even if he has to join the Missionaries himself. Kenny thinks it’s sweet in a way. Maybe a little obsessive, but all of South Park’s greatest love stories _are_ a little crazy.

Craig and Tweek are a package deal that Kenny doesn’t think much about. He doesn’t think they’ll make it out of South Park if he was being honest. Tweek will inherit the coffee shop and Craig will marry his twitchy ass before summer’s over. It’s sweet. In reality, Kenny envies them a little but. It’s more of that wistful-thinking kind of jealousy – that part of him that aches for a real connection with someone, for something solid and _real_ seethes when he sees them being so in love.

Though, in Kenny’s humble opinion, Craig could have a promising career in modelling if he wanted to. His Peruvian heritage has really started showing in the past three or four years and it’s been fascinating to observe the other boy change. His jaw has gotten more chiselled and his _physique_ is being carved from all the baseball he played. Now, Kenny’s no saint so he _has_ been looking – and maybe he’s been copping a feel when he can as well. Modelling agencies would tear at each other’s throats to get the Sun God-like boy in their grasp. Okay, maybe he’d given a little more thought to what Craig’s future than he would like to consciously – and soberly – admit.

Wendy will run for president, no doubt about it. She’ll win, too. She’ll probably try to ban men from jobs in politics when she does win. He thinks that would be a good decision seeing as fucking _Mr. Garrison_ was somehow elected two years ago. _Again._ He’s looking forward to living through that tier. She’ll do great things, that’s for sure. Probably solve world hunger or something else important like that while she’s at it. It’ll make Stan feel green with envy because he’s not doing enough but – at least there will be less hunger in the world. We can’t all win all the time.  

Clyde will probably, similarly to Tweek, inherit the family business. Maybe he’ll end up expanding the shoe store to other location or maybe he’ll end up in a _Married with Kids_ type of situation where he’s bitter and salty at life for shitting on him like this. Trapped in a loveless marriage with a dead-end job. He doesn’t like that option for Clyde. The guy’s genuinely a good person and well-liked by all, he should strive to be more. And Kenny will try and steer him down the right path as subtly as possible if he can.  

Token’s already talking about hightailing it out of South Park. His trust fund has been growing ever since he was a kid and he was ready to swap endless snowdrifts with the Cali Sun. He’s shooting for UCLA, Kenny doesn’t really know _how_ prestigious it is but it’s up there. He’s probably taking Nicole with him so they can live out their academic dreams in peace among people who aren’t deadbeats at heart.

Bebe’s been making her money by being sexy and provocative online ever since she was sixteen. She’s becoming an aspiring young Instagram influencer with a big following – selling shitting tea or whatever it is that they do, and showing off her great body for profit. She’d put up a pic from last summer a couple of days ago that made her look like a young Pam Anderson – the red one-piece showcasing her luscious curves _in great detail_ and received an offer for a shoot across the country in sunny California. She’ll probably transition into full-time modelling any day now, maybe move to Hollywood. Kenny will eagerly be follow her career and not just because she’s hot but because they’ve become great friends over the years.  

Jimmy’s becoming a Youtuber, out of all the things Kenny could have predicted this wasn’t one of them. But, he’ll continue doing that for the majority of his youth and eventually grow bored of it. He’s doing good for now, though. The stuttering has lessened over the years and he’d developed a better sense of humour so internet fame suits him just fine. He still doesn’t watch the kid’s videos, though, he’s not _that_ invested.

Now for the most relevant prediction, _Kyle_. Mr. 4.0, _I want to be a lawyer like pa’!_ Broflovski.

Kenny didn’t ever think Kyle would become a lawyer, not really. The ginger bastard used to want that as a kid but they’re all grown up now. Kyle has other interests that suit him much better now, like history and psychology. Kyle was going to be out of South Park before any of them could so much as say ‘goodbye’. Kenny liked to think he had Kyle’s future all mapped out. _Get outta this shithole, go to college, find a town to get a job in, start a family with an equally successful significant other._ The picture-perfect life for a picture-perfect student with great aspirations and a good head on his shoulders.

But while Kyle was ambitious and smart, he was also a tad bit unpredictable. And Kenny had forgotten that crucial bit of information oh so naively. He’d forgotten that even _if_ his life was dictated by his parents and a strict moral code, he was as stubborn as a mule and twice as persistent and would rather eat dirt than do something he didn’t want to do. He was dogged and when he had his eye set on something, it was tunnel vision from there. Kyle just _had_ to step outside the yellow brick road bounds that everyone, even Kenny himself, had set there for him so carefully. He bounced off that road _so hard_ and went ham on everyone’s expectations.   

As for Kenny himself, he didn’t have any long-term plans. He was going to try and die less, work more and maybe finish high school. Fuck around town, get his dick wet, smoke some good Kush. And eventually, he planned on putting Karen through college. He counted on being left on his own with his pride only, knowing that he was right about everyone’s futures.

But apparently, not on Kyle Broflovski’s watch.

When Kyle had shown up on that fateful Monday afternoon wearing a red polo that matched his hair hilariously, Kenny didn’t think it was funny at all. The first thing he thought was _huh; we have the same shirt_ and then realized _why_ exactly that was. Then his mind backtracked, _no fucking way_ it shouted at him. He stared Kyle in the eye; his annoyingly tall self eyed him back just as warily.

 _‘I'm working for some extra cash,’_ Kyle had said when Kenny had managed to choke out a ‘ _what the fuck’_ with his brain in overdrive.

‘ _Gonna take a year off after high school and travel around Europe until I run out of money,’_ He’d added and Kenny’s brain had come to a halt very abruptly, his eyes wide open, and then he’d had a fucking aneurism and died right there in the store much to his own horror and embarrassment.

He woke up the next morning thinking about how Kyle has killed him three times now already. An infinitesimally small number if put next to Cartman’s 340 but still more than Wendy’s round zero. She’s probably the only one that hasn’t killed him at one point or other even indirectly. Not that he keeps count – only of the small numbers, okay.

So they started working together in the store after school. And that’s where they are now, three weeks in and already low-key sick of each other’s bullshit but managing none the less because they’re no longer kids that fought each other each step of the way. _Communication_.  

He shuffles Kyle’s books to the side so he can hop onto the counter to sit there and observe as the redhead, whose curls have settled into a nice auburn rather than a blazing red, re-folds the shirts that Kenny had folded an hour before because he’s an anal little freak like that. Kenny doesn’t mind though. Mostly because now, he gets the privilege of watching Kyle’s ass pop in those skinny jeans as he bends over to put the pants he’d folded onto the lower shelves. Kenny grips his own thighs firmly as Kyle drops down into a squat smoothly, _damn._

It’s sort of unfair how handsome they’d all grown up to be – he, himself not an exception but he didn’t like to toot his own horn too much but he got around just fine. Still, he liked to notice others’ _assets_ more than his own. Like, Stan, with his broad shoulders and his trim waist, sharp jaw and blue puppy-dog eyes almost always covered by stray strands of dark hair. He took the top on the list of hottest guys in their gen last year and has stayed number one since. The list is revised by the girls bimonthly now and Stan easily soared to number one each time – despite his height not being the average girl’s ideal.

Butters with his pale blue gaze sharp and his platinum hair styled into a fashionable Mohawk, bubble-butt jiggling as he runs after Stan on the daily, definitely has heads turning after him too. Clyde, with his handsome bulk and well-groomed hair, thick thighs from playing soccer for years is the talk of every party as he sweeps up girls with a charming smile and beds his fair share of them. Craig with his... yeah, all of it, really, Kenny can’t choose a specific thing about Craig when the whole package is magnificent. And even Tweek has developed into a solid 9 on the scale (there’s only one true 10 in Kenny’s eyes) and settled at number 7 on the list right below Kevin Stoley who probably bought his way to number 6.

Kenny had been silent as a younger preteen but his silence was never disinterest, his silence was more in favour of observation and he was good at it. He took in details rapidly and analyzed situations, it was always a helpful skill to practice even if he’s putting it to use in less noble ways. He agrees with the updated lists most definitely, though, he still thinks Clyde was robbed. He would definitely switch Kevin’s 6 with Clyde’s 9. Something had to have gone wrong there. But, despite what people thought about him, Kenny wouldn’t award himself the third spot on the list. He was confident in his looks and he could talk out of his ass but, yeah – he’d definitely put Kyle up there instead of leaving him at spot number 5.  

Now, Kenny wasn’t _just_ a useless gay that objectified the guys around him, no. He likes girls as well (and those who don’t identify with any gender though he doesn’t know many). The girls though, they’re _girls_. In Kenny’s mind they could do no wrong and therefore it would be a sin to try and rate them on such a scale. They’d always been perfect while the boys had to do some maturing for everyone’s sake – Kenny, again, not being the exception.

In Kenny’s mind, Kyle was similar to girls. Not that he had _tiddies_ and a _vag_ but more in that spiritual sense that Kyle can do no wrong as well. Even when they were kids, Kyle was always a flame that shone bright in Kenny’s periphery. And now that he was older, _taller,_ and now that his frame was laced with corded muscles built from years of Basketball, he shone in a different way. He shone in a way that made Kenny’s insides _burn_ with things he’d rather not think about, feelings he’d rather not examine too closely even though he knew exactly what they were.                          

They'd also grown apart some in recent years due to Kyle being busy with b-ball and AP classes; Stan being busy with his failing relationships and football and Cartman – well, Kenny’s general dislike for Eric. But it was okay, because once they got together for beers and just to shoot the shit it was like no time had passed at all. Kyle and Stan would immediately be joined at the hip again and Cartman would start ripping on them for being fags. Eventually, Kenny would die and then things would go back to normal in the morning.

Kyle groans and straightens back up; tugging his polo down over the dimples on his back and Kenny mourns the loss of the beautiful visage.

“ _You know,_ I folded those earlier.” He says casually and watches Kyle scratch at the short hair of his undercut. He’s teasing, he doesn’t really mind – it’s not like he folded them properly either so it would make sense that Kyle had to redo everything.

“Nerves; can’t stand staring at the physics textbook anymore.” Kyle shrugs and comes to stand next to him, leaning against the counter.

It’s a slow afternoon, people don’t usually hang out at the mall on Mondays. There are possibly two other people in the store browsing through the store’s selection so nobody pays them any mind and Kenny lets himself indulge in the mock-privacy by kicking Kyle in the thigh. They go back and forth, slapping each other on any part of skin they can find in a pretend-fight until Kyle bruises his wrist and he whines in protest.  

“Got a test comin’ up?” He tilts his head, blond hair flopping over his face uselessly as he rubs at the raw skin of his wrist, trying to fight off an unwanted boner because Kyle has a _mean_ grip.

“She’s giving us pop quizzes after every lesson, the cumulative points from the quizzes are gonna make up half the grade. Gotta nail that shit.” Kyle breathes through his nose, mouth tugging down into a big ol’ frown that Kenny wanted to do things to. “Wish I didn’t have to take the stupid thing.”

“Well, you know.” Kenny waves a hand through the air, blowing a bubble from the stale gum in his mouth that he’d been chewing on for three hours already.

“Yeah, yeah. My fault.” Kyle snorts and slaps Kenny’s thigh to get him off the counter as a customer approaches.

The both of them round the counter as a lady holding a horrible sequinned dress in her manicured hands walks towards them with purpose.

“Hello,” Kyle greets levelly and Kenny beams at the woman with a bright smile. Kyle rings her up while he bags the dress and hands it over to her as she pays for the purchase.

“Bye, have a nice day!” He says cheerily and waves her away. They work surprisingly well as a team; bustling around the store and chatting about this or that. They spend their day doing their job and filling the silence with stupid jokes and school talk. And by the time the manager comes in the evening they’ve sold some shirts and cleaned out the dressing rooms so the man in charge does the money stuff and locks up. Kyle always ends up giving him a ride home in his parents’ old Honda Accord that smells like the locker room because Kyle had forgotten to take out his duffle out last night after practice _again_. Kenny mans the CD player because Kyle’s music taste is shit but Kenny only plays Nirvana songs because that’s the only CD he owns and the player doesn’t have an USB port for the aux cord.

Their days feel like molasses, time felt irrelevant; somehow the last year of high school is easy. They have the finals coming up, sure, but the load is somehow lesser than it used to be and the inevitability of the tests has finally settled inside their guts like a solid rock of stress. Christmas comes all too soon and not soon enough at the same time. Kenny can’t put his finger on it.

He thinks about it as he watches his family bicker over the remains of the turkey that he’d managed to put on the table this year because of the Christmas bonus their manager had bestowed upon them even though they were only part-timers. It’s been a good first semester, his grades were averaging on a solid C and nobody was threatening to fail him. Hell, he’d even been dying way less than usual. There were less and less ominous signs that warned him and he lived day to day, enjoying his job (mostly because of Kyle) and enjoying the limited free time he had (again because of Kyle but with the addition of the other two plus Butters).

And okay, maybe Kenny is putting too much emphasis on _Kyle_. Maybe he’s been thrown back into the loop he was stuck in as a kid that had him hung up on each word Kyle, the brilliant bastard that he was, sounded out. Kenny was a weak fool, it was his own fault in the end.

He leaves the house and the shouting behind, patting Karen’s head as she enters through the front door just as he’s leaving. She’d been over at the Tucker residence to drop off the present she’d made for Craig’s little sister. He closes the door quietly and slinks towards the better part of the neighbourhood. He could go to Kyle’s or Stan’s house, they’d understand – maybe offer him some cake or something. But they have plans for New Year’s Eve and he’s not eager to indulge himself in seeing Kyle before that. He can’t allow his _fixations_ to lead his life, not again.

Instead, he allows his agile self to head for the Stotch residence, knowing Butters won’t really care that he’s dropping by on Christmas.

He clambers up the tree in their back yard and jumps the short distance onto their roof, cracking a few shingles but not really caring. Not fearing death really did wonders to a person’s self-preservation and empathy. Or was the expression _did a number on_? Either way.

He meanders over the roof and onto the little awning above Butters’ window and, hanging upside down, slaps a palm against the frosty glass. There’s a startled yelp from inside and the pane opens with a clatter.

Butters’ head peeks out the window, a scowl on his face. “Don’t fuckin’ do that, Ken!”

“I do it every time and yet every time you get spooked. Always expect the unexpected, dude.” He lectures wisely and vaults himself off the roof and into the room with the practiced ease of someone who’s spent half their childhood being a vigilante.

“Your parents out?” He drops into the rotating chair at the blonde’s desk and spins around.

“Yeah, went to visit the grandparents or whatever. Didn’t wanna go, they didn’t care.” Butters shrugs and hops up on the desk. “What are _you_ doing out on Christmas?”

He shrugs in turn and grins easily. Butters an’ him have known each other for as long as the others have. There was always something easy about talking to Butters who was the least judgemental person he knew and despite always going to Kyle first, when he _couldn’t_ he’d go to Leo instead.

“Ma an’ pa fighting over leftovers, I splurged for an actual turkey and some mashed potatoes this year.” He’s still proud of himself for that. He’s still the one bringing money to the table, still the one providing for his family. He shouldn’t be the one doing all that but he is and at least he’s good at it unlike his deadbeat parents.

“That store job treating you good, huh?” Butters smiles cheekily and Kenny nods. “How’s working with Kyle been so far?”

He doesn’t like the other’s intonation in the slightest. Because Butters thinks he _knows_ what’s up, when he doesn’t know _anything_ at all. There’s nothing _to_ know. He rolls his eyes.

“He’s as insufferable as always but he’s diligent and takes most of the workload so I can’t complain. It’s been cool, kinda like when we were kids.” He tries for nonchalant but the glint in Butters’ eye notifies him that he is not, in fact, as slick as he likes to think.

“Just like the good ol’ days, huh?” Butters crosses his arms over his chest and Kenny wonders if the blonde would let him get away with snogging him and then jumping out the window and killing himself. Well, it’s not like he’s never used the curse to get out of doing things he didn’t want to do or if he did something that he wanted forgotten. There was a limited time of a few hours prior to death that gets erased as he dies. He’s always utilized it well when he needed to shamelessly.  

And right now he’s horny, lonely, slightly bitter and contemplating knocking out for a few days until NYE comes and he gets to see Kyle again. God, _Kyle_. He should have just stuck with Butters, fallen for his innocent charms when they were younger and maybe they could have avoided this new and mean Leo. He doesn’t want to talk about Kyle right now and Butters seems to be very keen on trying to drag information out of him. He’s not about that this evening.

“Almost. Except he’s got a phenomenal ass now.” He grins, rolling his chair to the side until it’s between the other’s legs as he leans his elbows on the blonde’s thighs. “Second best only to yours, of course.” He flirts shamelessly, enjoying the way the other’s cheeks heat up despite his petulant attitude.

“You flatterer.” Butters bites at his lip, holding back a grin. “Don’t change the subject, Ken. You doing okay, yeah?”

“Jesus, Butters, it’s not like my life revolves around him.” He rolls his eyes forcibly again, refuses to admit that he has a stupid fat crush on the hothead redhead. _Again._ “I'm perfectly fine screwing around and ignoring my _undying_ love for him.” He’s aiming for sarcasm, trying to be over the top but Butters – like usual – isn’t buying it.

“I heard he’s planning on taking a gap year.” Butters leans back against the wall of his bedroom.

“Weasel that outta Stan, did you?” He grins brightly as Butters stutters over whatever his response was going to be and blushes further. It’s always fun to tease Leo, he’s always brought back to his innocence when Kenny goes for a quick jab at his less-than-ideal love life.

“Maybe.” Butters mutters shyly and gosh, he’s darn _cute_. Leo’s always had a special place in his heart, ever since they were kids. Butters was always easy to talk to, there was no filter to the other blonde and Kenny appreciated the honesty when everyone else would sugar-coat their words.

“Honestly, I never even saw it coming.” He laments sadly because he definitely _should have_ seen it coming. He also hates that he’ll have to spend the summer without Kyle and their usual summer shenanigans. Summers were always when things went back to normal, when they grew closer back together as a group and continued with their bullshit like they didn’t have a care in the world.  

“It makes sense. He was bound to snap sooner or later and with his mom being the way she is... it makes sense.” Butters shrugs and then yawns, rubbing at his eye – the one that doesn’t have a scar bisecting it – with a long sleeve. _Awh, sweater paws._

“I was expecting it sooner. Now it just seems like he’s living out the last vestiges of his rebellious youth. It’s admirable, I guess.” He smiles to himself, thinking about how Kyle’s mom must have freaked the fuck out when he came to her with the idea.

“You stayin’ the night?” Butters shimmies off the table and towards the bed, dropping his sweats as he goes. Kenny tries not to stare but he is merely a human boy.

“You don’t mind?” He gets up to follow the shorter male, ready for sleep already after such an emotionally draining day with his family.

“’Course not, you give good cuddles, Ken.” Butters grins and holds out a hand for him to take.

 It’s easy with Butters, to let his guard down and to find comfort in a kindred soul of sorts. Except Kenny would never allow himself to trail after Kyle the way Leo does after Stan. He wishes the other all the luck in the world, Stan could use someone to remove the fuckin’ stick he’s got shoved up his ass. Being the paragon of morality must suck balls and Butters is just opposite enough to that that it will help Stan in life.   

Toeing off his shoes and dropping his jackets he takes the other’s hand, lets Butters pull him into the bed and snuggles against him.

“Night, Butters, hope you tell Stan soon.” He yawns, “You should come with us to Stark’s Pond on the 31st.”

“Hope you tap that ass soon, Ken, I hate seeing you mope.” Butters runs a hand through his hair and Kenny hums. “I’ll think about joining you guys. G’night.”

* * *

 

They had a solid plan for NYE, the perfect plan for a group of teens trying to have a good time on their own.

The plan was that Stan would bum a bottle of something strong from his parents to keep them all warm, Cartman would provide snacks made by his mom and Kenny and Kyle would bring fireworks bought by them through Kenny’s older brother, Kevin.

And the night began like that. They set up a shoddy little firepit with rocks on the side of the Pond that was further away from civilization and closer to the forest. They lit a fire to keep them warm through the night and started counting down hours till midnight. They settled around the fire in the frigid cold weather of Colorado and roasted marshmallows like they were nine years old and camping again. It was good, Kenny was – well not happy entirely but - _content_. It was his ideal way of spending time off from school and work, just him and the guys chilling.

“Hey, I never asked.” Kenny starts, turning towards Kyle as Stan and Cartman rock-paper-scissors for who’s going to go get more firewood. “How’d your mom react when you told her about _EuroTrip?”_

“God, that movie’s ancient.” Kyle snorts, an undignified little sound that has Kenny warming on the inside at the familiarity. His face grows sheepish soon enough, though. “Um. Well.”

“Oh, my god.” His jaw drops at Kyle’s guilty expression that’s all too familiar, there’s no way. “You didn’t tell her. You _haven’t told her yet, oh my god.”_ He chokes out. 

“Yeah.” Kyle shrugs and takes a sip from the thermos that hold spiked hot cocoa before handing it over to him.

“You’ve got balls of steel, my man, lemme know if they need shining.” He winks cheekily and Kyle snorts again.

He laughs because Kyle doesn’t know, probably will never know what Kenny’s got going through his mind. Kyle thinks he’s joking but Kenny is very much _offering_. There was an instance where he’d confessed to him as a kid, but then he’d died right after and it was forgotten the very next day. It was for the best, probably. They never believed him when he tried to explain. No matter how many times he died in front of them.  

He’s okay with that. He’s learned not to resent them for it. They mourn him every time he dies, he hates seeing them cry but a secret part of him is always glad to have the affirmation that they _do_ love and care for him. He’d spent most of middle school being bitter at them for not remembering but that’s in the past now. He’s learned that it’s for the best that they don't know. Nobody needs to remember the gruesome ways his body’s been destroyed. He’s not stupid and angry anymore, just resigned and annoyed at his shitty life in general. It’s not a big deal, though.      

“Fuck you, fatass!” Stan shouts from somewhere behind them but he doesn’t care what they’re fighting about now. He spots Butters moving around a crowd on the other side of the lake, making his way towards them and smiles – of course the blonde wouldn’t miss a chance to hang out with Stan. He doesn’t care about that either, though. Nothing matters in the face of Kyle’s illuminated curls and his bright green eyes, freckles shining in the campfire glow.

 _Fuck you, God,_ He thinks absently; too busy staring at the redhead’s profile. There’s a slight bump on Kyle’s nose that matches the crook of his own. They’d broken each other’s noses in 9th grade over a girl they were both into – except Kenny wasn’t into her at all. He _was,_ however, very much into _Kyle_ and his hormones were alight with a confusing sort of jealousy. It’s not his fault Kyle is denser than a brick and thought that Kenny wanted her for himself.

Abruptly, Kyle turns to him and Kenny’s heart lodges inside his throat with a threatening but familiar thud. He thinks _no, please don’t let me die tonight._ He should have seen the signs. Over the years, he’s _learned_ but tonight, his mind was drifting too much to focus on them. He should have seen the fire grow more intense, the crows overhead circling them, the looming figure in the far distance. He should have known.

Kyle opens his mouth to say something; the tension so thick in the air that Kenny can practically sink his teeth into it. He expects some life-altering sentence to leave the other’s mouth but the redhead just shakes his head and snaps his jaw shut; the tension dissipates like smoke. Something’s just been lost to the moment and Kenny can’t help but mourn it. He watches as Kyle gets up to grip the metal poker he used to put his marshmallow to roast with.

Kenny blinks slowly and Kyle yelps as the poker burns his hand. The redhead drops the hot iron onto the ground with a hiss and a wince. Kenny’s on his feet and gripping Kyle’s hand to look the burn over before his brain can comprehend what he’s doing.

“You okay?” He asks, turning Kyle’s hand in his. The burn’s red but it doesn’t look too bad and it’s not blistering.

“Yeah, I'm-”

But he doesn’t get to hear the rest of the sentence, doesn’t get to hear the hushed and slightly awed tone of Kyle’s voice because there’s shouting in the background that’s much louder now. Right. Cartman and Stan are fighting; they’ve been fighting for the past ten minutes but now-

“Cartman! No, you fucking retard! Stop it!” Stan yells, sounding slightly panicked and frantic.

Kenny sees Kyle’s eyes focus on the two others behind his back, a frown marring his features as he takes in the scene.

“What are you-?” Kyle starts but gets cut off by Stan’s angry shout of _Cartman, NO!_

Kenny sees it play out in slow motion like he has so many times already. Except, this time, Kyle’s too close to him – too close to danger. And then the redhead is gripping his biceps, shoving him to the side and away from impending death. The sound of the fireworks setting off is piercing in the silent air, a whizzing noise chills his bones and Kenny sees – much to his horror – as the rocket hits Kyle square in the chest before exploding, taking out both of them in the process despite Kyle’s best efforts to save him.

 _Stupid, misguided, selfless fool!_ Kenny’s heart would be full with adoration if he hadn’t just watched a rocket blow a hole in Kyle’s torso. His eyes widen as Kyle drops to the ground, life fading from his eyes fast, body twitching and convulsing. Blood _spurting_ absolutely everywhere, people rushing over to see what’s happening. He’s gonna fucking vomit. Except he can’t because he’s fucking dead, too. The fireworks are colourful but all the reds are from the precious liquid spraying out of Kyle’s chest. The sparks blind him momentarily and it all goes white.

The sounds of the others’ shouting in the background are muted like he’s underwater. That’s new. Usually when he dies, everything is so crisp and sharp. Now, he feels like he’s wading through swamp soil, thick and pulling him back in. He sees himself separate from his own body, his soul crawling over to Kyle’s limp form; to Kyle whose blood is now oozing out and over the gore there.

He screams, opens his mouth and releases a blood-curdling screech that scares the crows out of the trees and the sky but nobody else (living) hears it. His hands fall through the other’s body as he tries to shake him. He tries to feel for a pulse but he can’t feel at all – he’s intangible. It’s one of those days where he’s gonna stick around until he’s whisked off back into the land of the living. He’s going to be forced to see the aftermath, the despair, hear Stan’s cries and Cartman’s wailing-

“Stupid! Fucking! Idiot! You never listened! You fucking moron!” He grips his own hair, clambers onto his knees and sees the looming figure again. Maybe he’ll be spared the guilt of knowing that he’d endangered Kyle. Maybe he’ll die for real this time.

Death shakes its sallow face underneath the hanging hood. Kenny knows Death like the back of his hand; they’ve been meeting for years now after all. He wishes it weren’t so but it is what it is. He prefers it when Death comes to pick him up instead of when he faces the Elder Gods. At least Death listens to him when he rants. Maybe Death will listen to him plead as well.  

“Please, you can’t take him! It’s not his time! He was being stupid, trying to save me! I’ll do anything, please!” He cries, looking for any sort of sympathy or any form of verbal confirmation that he’s right. It’s useless, though. Not in all the years he’s been dying and coming back to life has Death talked to him. No matter what he said, how much he cursed, pleaded for the end, _flirted_. Nothing.

“It is not his time, yes.” Death speaks.

Kenny’s too stunned to say anything more as he watches the hooded figure crouch down, robes levitating slightly above the snowy ground. Death passes a hand over the wound in the other’s chest, drawing the blonde’s eyes there. Kenny wishes he didn’t see the ribs, the carnage of muscles and the beginnings of the other’s lungs but he does. The sight makes him nauseous even in his ghastly state. It’s even worse when the wound starts knitting itself back together.

“I cannot do this alone.” Death adds solemnly and Kenny crawls forward again.

“Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll give up this shitty curse; I’ll give up my life after I finally do die. He’s – he has his whole future ahead of him, please.” If he were alive, he’d be crying. He’d be weeping and his chest would be constricting with so much pain over stupid, brave Kyle that tried to save _him_. But now, half dead, he just feels desperation over the fact that he has to bring Kyle back to life.

Death reaches forward with a withered hand, pushing through Kenny’s ghostly chest. He feels something inside him _dislodge_ and he gasps for air even though he isn’t capable of breathing. A flickering speck of something is in Death’s hand. He has a pretty good idea about what it might be but he keeps quiet. He watches, fascinated, as Death deposits the speck into Kyle’s gaping mouth, closing it with a tap of a finger to the underside of the redhead’s chin.

“Don’t let this happen again.” Death warns sullenly and Kenny feels himself being pulled back into his own body.

He wants to promise Death that yes, he’s gonna watch out, he’s gonna be careful and keep Kyle out of trouble but his voice is gone. Time for rebirth.

* * *

 

 When he wakes up, for the first time in forever, he’s not in his own home. There’s no stain on the ceiling that looks like Australia, no cracks in the corners of the room and no missing pieces of plaster. There’s no shouting from downstairs and he doesn’t smell the mould. The room is _clean_ and smells _good,_ smells _familiar._  

He’s not on a bed either, he’s on the floor and the plush carpet underneath him is softer than the covers on his bed. He knows these corners, knows that poster on the wall and the picture frame on the desk. He’s in Kyle’s room.

It sort-of makes sense that he’d wake up here this time. He _did_ save Kyle from certain death. And now that they’re both alive –

He quickly turns to the side and grips the hand hanging off the bed to check for a pulse with frantic hands that shake. Kyle’s heart beats steadily, pulsing under his fingertips and he breathes out heavily.

\- Now that they’re both alive, he has the time to properly process what the hell happened.

Kyle was willing to sacrifice himself to save _Kenny_. The stupid fucker that has _so many_ personality complexes was willing to put _someone else’s_ safety ahead of his own. Kenny would have been _fine_ but Kyle didn’t know that. He’d almost died in vain and Kenny would have never forgiven himself if that happened. But Death spoke to him, agreed _with_ him and they saved Kyle. He hopes Kyle doesn’t have the curse now too. The redhead didn’t need that much angst in his life, he was already stressed over everything and missing days at a time would kill Kyle’s schooling.

He blinks at the ceiling again, a tear sliding from the corner of his eye and down his temple. The hand that’s still somehow in his grasp twitches and Kenny lets it go swiftly. Kyle groans from the bed and rolls to the side to peer down at him.

“Dude.” Kyle’s voice is croaky and rough and Kenny feels a pleasant thrum go down his spine.

This is absolutely not the time for a boner. “S’up?”

“How much did we drink last night? My mouth tastes like death.” Kyle closes his eyes, brows furrowing.

Kenny lets out a startled laugh at the ridiculousness of the words because _yeah._ “Eh, enough to feel like shit this fine-” He checks the time, “- noon.”

“Fuck.” Kyle rubs at his face and then drags a hand down to his – bare – chest. Kenny has to look away as a flash of blood replaces the pale skin momentarily. He’s never going to get rid of that image; it’s going to haunt him forever – more than any death of his own ever did.

“Hey,” He calls softly and Kyle looks at him with a raised brow. “Happy new year.” Because he didn’t get to say it last night. Didn’t get to count down to zero, didn’t get to steal a smooch from Butters at midnight and watch Stan secretly be bothered and confused by it.

Kyle smiles, subdued and sleepy but so, _so_ sweet. “Happy new year, Ken.”

The redhead gets up with a stretch and helps him stumble to his feet, hands warm as he steadies him.

“Come on, I’ll make breakfast.” Kyle throws his arm over his shoulders and Kenny revels in the warmth the other radiates.

* * *

 

Things go back to normal after that. They get back to work, they drink on some Saturdays, sometimes they just go for a quick snack at the local Burger King. Kyle studies history and sometimes Kenny joins him in the library to do homework for the lack of things to do. And sometimes when he doesn’t want to be home, he pesters Kyle into joining him on his forest hikes.  

Overall, things are _normal_. Almost _too normal,_ considering it’s South Park. He tries to get Kyle to tell his mom about his plans a couple of times but the redhead won’t budge. Kyle’s a firm believer of the ‘ _cross that bridge when you get to it_ ’ philosophy and Kenny just wishes to be there when he _does_ tell her. What a spectacle it will be to behold.  

Cold weather turns into crisp spring air but the snow doesn’t melt because it’s still fuckin’ Colorado, after all. But, it _is_ warm enough that he can ditch his parka and start wearing hoodies only. Unfortunately, this also means that Kyle takes to wearing his button-ups with his sleeves rolled up his forearms and Kenny _suffers._  

It’s all good, he pines from afar, falling further each day, but it’s all good. Butters makes fun of him relentlessly but it’s okay, _he’s_ okay. He watches Kyle, watches all of them really, as the incoming deadlines overtake their lives and become the centre of their universe.  

Three weeks before finals, Kyle quits the job so he can prepare better for the exams and Kenny get’s to regroup for a while. He gets a break from his pining because he’s not spending 5 hours after school with Kyle. His muscles get to relax and his posture grows slack again. Even though he doesn’t want to posture, not really, he can’t help the subconscious way his body adjusts to stand just a _bit_ taller when he’s around the other. Kyle does visit sometimes, though.

The redhead brings him snacks often and sometimes a full takeout meal and Kenny appreciates it greatly but he wishes Kyle would fucking _stop_ giving him more reasons to fall for him. Kyle’s proven time and time again that he’s the perfect boyfriend and Kenny’s had it with him. It’s a little painful but still not as painful as (him) dying. It’s funny; conveniently it’s been a couple of months since he last died, too.  

He’s avoided death five times since New Year’s Eve. It seems as though his luck has changed and he’s happy. It’s all good.

It’s all good until it isn’t.

* * *

 

Two weeks until finals, they’re at Stan’s first game of the spring season. The crowd is pumped for the Cows and he’s definitely not an exception. Stan’s playing beautifully; Kenny’s always had an appreciation for the way he sprints across the field, leads the team like he was born to do it.

Kyle’s next to him, he’s jumping along with everyone on the bleachers, everyone’s fucking _excited_. He looks ecstatic and Kenny admires his tall figure as he stretches to shout Stan’s name in cheer. The crowd is wild as the Cows take the lead by a significant amount of points. He forgets himself during the game and ends up staring at Kyle several times for a fair amount of time instead. Thankfully, Butters always elbows him to snap out of it when he notices.

It’s a shame Kyle quit the basketball team as well. He’s gonna miss seeing sweaty number 5 running across the court, dribbling the ball and shooting three pointers effortlessly. He loved being at Kyle’s games; mostly because every time he’d get a chance, Kyle would look over to them ( _him)_ and grin with a beaming smile that made Kenny’s heart flutter like it was a shitty moth.

He wishes Kyle would start dating someone so he can finally get over it, but Kyle remains perpetually single and Kenny remains being a small-minded moth slamming himself into the window over and over again because there’s light coming from the other side that emanates from Kyle. He wishes he could slap himself into oblivion; the endless pining is getting too annoying even for _him._

“Dude,” Butters whispers into his ear, gripping his arm for stability as the crowd gyrates around them. “You gotta either take a pic or watch the fucking game, Ken, this is getting ridiculous.”

And he knows it’s pathetic, he really does. He grips Butters around the waist and snuggles him into his side for comfort. Butters lets himself be manhandled into his lap once the crowd settles again and Kyle gives them an odd look.

“Cold,” He offers as explanation and Kyle frowns at him before removing his stupid coat and draping it over Kenny’s back.

 _Oh come on, you stupid fucker, you’re not making this any better!_ He screams like a maniac inside his own head, panicked and heating up. And great, now he’s _too_ fucking warm.

“Thanks,” He smiles a little, hoping Kyle can’t see him blush in the evening light. Butters squeezes the wrist of the arm that’s slung around him for safety and Kenny wants to tell him to fuck off. And, wow excellent, now Kyle’s fuckin’ _scent_ is all around him. He’s gonna be smelling the shitty (great, probably expensive) cologne for days after. It’s gonna soak into his hoodie and give him boners for weeks.

Butters does him a solid and moves to sit at his side once the time to cheer has gone and passed again. He can’t help but feel like he’s being sandwiched between the two of them now. He knows why _Butters_ does it – the need for closeness, company, reassurance – but _Kyle?_ He’s got no clue why Kyle suddenly plasters himself to his flank. Probably because he said he’s cold; yeah, that’s gotta be it.

Kyle scoops him up into a side hug when Stan goes for a touchdown and the game ends with the Cows winning. Butters joins the hug a second later and Kenny lets himself enjoy the motions of the two of them squeezing him. He’s always liked going to games.

They’re out behind the bleachers waiting for Stan to change so they can head for the after-party at Token’s. He’s looking to get shitfaced tonight and maybe go Jerk off in one of the luxurious bathrooms that the Blacks’ manor has to offer. Maybe he’ll get Bebe and go down on her if she’s feeling up for it.

He pulls out a cigarette from the nearly-empty pack and lights it. He’s stopped smoking, mostly. Between the job and school, he didn’t have much time to smoke like a chimney. It’s an expensive addiction as well; he has better things to invest his money in. Butters is pestering Kyle about something Stan-related and Kenny is happy to have a moment to himself. Between Butters, who’s already slightly tipsy from the beer they smuggled in, clinging to anyone (mostly Kenny) close by, and Kyle’s weird disposition of making sure everyone’s okay all the time, he hasn’t had a chance to take in a hearty lungful of air all evening. Worried-Kyle disappears once alcohol gets involved so Kenny’s not too concerned.

He feels a chill run up his spine, something nasty and vicious, malicious and definitely not caused by the chill in the air. He turns around to see someone stumbling towards them. It’s too dark to make out who it is but he paces forward and around Kyle and Butters to form a shield between them and the approaching figure.

“What do you want?” He asks as the man stops, something in his hand that’s potentially sharp and pointy.

There’s no response and now Kyle and Butters have stopped talking to watch him. The man stumbles forward, movements of someone not entirely here at the moment.

“Go away, crackhead, this is a school area.” He plants himself firmly in front of the incoming druggie, ready to take the blow of whatever attack the other has in mind.

“Juss’ wan’ a smoke.” The man’s voice is slurred and garbled; Kenny steps forward to meet him halfway.

“Ken, no,” Kyle shouts after him.

He raises a hand to offer the guy the rest of his smokes and the man takes it. The guy takes one out and puts it into his mouth and then motions for Kenny to light it. This is a stupid fucking idea, he can _see_ how this plays out, but he can’t let anyone else get hurt. In a swift movement from the man, Kenny’s gut meets the sharp switchblade in the guy’s hand. It’s fine, it’s okay, he’ll come back. The man twists the knife and Kenny grits his teeth against the scream that wants to leave him as he grips the guy’s wrist, bone grinding under his hold. He’s not strong enough to throw him off completely but he manages to knee him in the crotch, only momentarily distracting him. A man high feels nothing but _good_ , he knows it’s futile. At least after he dies the man will forget about all of this and leave Kyle and Butters alone.

He coughs a little, blood dribbling down his mouth. The other two are screaming now, profanities and curses, he hopes Kyle doesn’t try and do anything stupid again. He spots Stan in his periphery running towards them, uh oh. In mere seconds, the quarterback is tackling the man with his whole body bringing the two of them to the ground and leaving Kenny gutted. Because, unfortunately (of course), this sends the knife cutting sideways across his stomach because the man refuses to let go of his, surprisingly strong, grip. Well, at least he won’t be bleeding out for long.

He doesn’t want to think about how his insides are gonna be all over the place if he moves. He’s sad he’s going to be missing the party, though. He turns and grins at Kyle, probably looking like a nightmare come to life.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” He coughs and drops down onto his knees before keeling over to the side.

“Kenny!” Kyle screams, tearing his throat out and rushing forward.

“You bastard!” Stan’s foot catches the guy’s ribcage and something cracks audibly.

Privately, he’s glad Stan broke something. The bastard had it coming. He blacks out as Kyle reaches him, doesn’t get to see the tears in the other’s eyes. It’s for the best.

Death collects him, ushers him towards the Boatman silently.

“Back to no speaking, huh?” He grins cheekily and Death gives him the stink-eye.

* * *

 

 _That’s not my ceiling,_ is the first thing he thinks when he wakes up. The second is: _who the fuck is crying?_

In retrospect, he should have figured it out as soon as he identified that the ceiling wasn’t his.

The deep, heaving, Heartbroken sobs keep him rooted to the floor. His limbs refuse to move as he listens to Kyle cry. _Why’s he crying?_ He should get up and check but it’s awkward to just suddenly appear in someone else’s room without invitation. Oh, well, this is potentially very bad.

 _Maybe it’s the stress,_ he wonders for how long he’s been out this time. How many day has it been? Are the finals over? He checks the clock on the wall and sees that it’s just shy of 5 a.m. Unfortunately, the analogue clock doesn’t give him a date. He sighs to himself and flinches as another wail makes it out of Kyle. He prepares for the awkwardness and sits up, turning to face Kyle as he goes.

The sight of the other huddled in the corner by the wall, head buried in his knees and his form shaking. He leans forward onto the bed; arms crossed as he observes for a moment, trying to see if Kyle will calm himself down. When a few minutes later the other’s still crying and Kenny’s heart’s too sorrowful to keep quiet any longer (he start tearing up as well) he speaks.

“Hey, dude, what’s up?”

Kyle freezes up, muscles locking and hands gripping his flannel bottoms. He’s pretty sure the redhead’s stopped breathing altogether upon closer inspection.

“K-Kenny?” Kyle’s voice is shuddery and weak, like he’s been crying for hours now. And maybe he has, for far longer than Kenny’s seen.

“Psh, who else? Santy Claus?” He smiles to himself seeing as Kyle isn’t looking at him. “What’s with the crying? Is the exam stress finally getting to you?”

“W-what... crying – Kenny!” Kyle shoots up from his position, eyes wild and panicked.

“Hey, man, it’s cool. We all need to cry sometimes.” He shrugs and leans back, away from the bed, and onto his arms as Kyle stares at him.

Green eyes, murky and red from shedding tears, stare at him like he’s seen a ghost. Kyle’s mouth opens in a screech that’s got to have woken the whole household up and he _launches_ himself at Kenny who’s wholly unprepared to take the weight of Kyle’s body.

“Oof,” The breath gets knocked out of him as Kyle lands on his chest, legs bracketing his hips. “You okay there?”

“Kenny! You fucker! What the fuck?! How – why?! _How!?”_ Kyle’s hands grip his face and turn it from side to side like he’s searching for something. A finger runs over his bumpy nose and Kenny sucks in a sharp breath at the intimate gesture. His brain is alight with thoughts that he can’t tie down until Kyle sits back and pulls his shirt up. Warm hands frantically caress the skin of his abdomen – _right where the cut happened to slash across_. Kenny’s blood freezes.

“How about a movie and a dinner first, huh, hotstuff?” He chokes out in an effort to be fun and flirty like good ol’ Kenny usually is.

“You! You died!” Kyle whispers out harshly, hands gripping his hips and thumbs digging into the V there.

 _No time for a boner, buddy._ He tries to tell his dick to calm down and manages to focus enough to nudge Kyle off him and to the side just to be safe.

They sit on the soft carpet, staring at each other in silence. There’re two options he has here: play it off as if Kyle is being delusional or try and tell him the truth because, suddenly, Kyle _remembers_.

“I’m pretty sure I’d remember dying,” He tries for option number one to see if he can pull it off. “Seems like a big life event, eh?”

“Kenny. Kenneth. McCormick. What the fuck?” Kyle using anything other than his nicknames feels like a stab to the gut more than the actual stab did.

“What are you talking about, Ky? Are you sure you’re okay?” God, he doesn’t want Kyle to remember. Doesn’t want the other to have that image in his head. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“I’ll fucking say! The past three days have been a damn nightmare! We buried you, Ken! We all cried, they lowered you into the ground! I haven’t been to school since because I-” Kyle persists in this like he does in everything else, stubborn as a mule, choking back words before he spills everything out on the floor.

He sighs, leans back and lifts up his shirt. “I’m fine now, aren’t I?” It’s been three days, then. Good, not too much time’s passed this time around.

Kyle looks like he wants to reach for his skin again, like he wants to reassure himself of Kenny’s sudden resurrection again. He does him a solid and takes his outstretched hand, placing it over his heart so that the other can feel first-hand.

“See, beating, healthy as a horse.” He smiles, runs his other hand through his hair.

“I watched you die, watched your guts spill out over the concrete, watched Stan kick the guy’s face in. You told me – you told me you’d see me _tomorrow_. Ken, _what the fuck?”_ Kyle’s voice breaks with the effort to keep it steady and Kenny switches to option two because he’s a weak fucker and he hates seeing Kyle like this almost to the point where it pains him.

“My parents used to be in a cult. Some Lovecraftian bullshit before I was born that translated to me or something.” He admits, hand still holding Kyle’s on his chest. “I’ve been dying for the past 18 years of my life, persistently, and a lot, over and over again.”

“Ken-”

“Nobody ever remembers. I’ve tried to prove it to you guys, killed myself right in front of you, but nobody ever fucking remembered. I always come back, though, wake up in my bed like nothing happened. The longest I’ve been away is three months when we were nine. Usually it’s a couple of days max.” He admits, a little uneasy talking about it but Kyle _remembers_. Of course it’d be _Kyle_ that remembered, out of all of them, it _had_ to be Kyle.

“Nobody remembers? Not even me?” Kyle whispers to himself, “Is that why Stan’s been acting like nothing’s wrong? The moment we lowered you into the ground it was like life just went on and I-” Kyle’s eyes well up again, tears sliding down his face.

“Hey, shh, I’m here. I’m sorry you had to see that, sorry you have to remember.” He reaches forward and without hesitation drags Kyle into a fierce hug, his own traitorous heart beats doubletime. “I’m fine, we’re okay.”

“Kenny, what the fuck.” Kyle whispers into the crook of his neck and he tries real hard not to start crying along with the other boy.

“It’s been good lately, I haven’t died since New-” He cuts himself off, realizing too late that it might not be wise to tell Kyle about that. He hopes Kyle will drop it. _Stupid, stupid running mouth._

No such luck, though, Kyle’s a piranha. “Since when?” The redhead asks, suspicion coloring his features and Kenny sighs, cursing his stupid mouth.

“New Year’s,” He looks away from the imploring gaze.

“What happened?” Kyle’s hands grip his shoulders and Kenny wants to pull out the knife he has in his pocket and jam it into his artery to avoid this conversation. Except. Except Kyle remembers now, and he’d probably be traumatized if Kenny did so and he would _still_ have to explain himself later.

“We were out by Stark’s Pond like we said we’d be. You an’ I were roasting marshmallows and passing the spiked cocoa back and forth and Cartman and Stan were arguing over something. I wasn’t paying attention – there were, _are_ , always signs when it’s coming and usually it’s good to just accept it as it is. But I wanted to be there for New Year’s so I ignored them. One of them set off the fireworks on accident and launched one of the bigger rockets at us. I took a rocket to the chest and woke up in the morning.” He tries to skirt around the part where Kyle saved him but Kyle’s too perceptive for that. _Always so fucking smart and brilliant._  

A hand grips his jaw and forces him to meet green eyes again. “You woke up _here_ on January first. Why’d you wake up here, Ken?”

 _Oh, fuck me,_ he thinks and only slightly in the literal way. The grip on his jaw is commanding and Kenny understands that Kyle’s mad but he feels that grip in his abdomen and he’s soon gonna be feeling something _else_ in his _dick_ if Kyle doesn’t release him.

He bats the hand away and Kyle lets up. “Well, uh. Okay. You sort of tried to push me out of the rocket’s way and you ended up taking the full blow. Unfortunately, it caught me in the side because we weren’t fast enough. You died, Kyle, as did I.” He says lowly, not wasting time sugar-coating his words.  

Kyle’s face pales in horror, probably realizing that he doesn’t remember New Year’s because he was _dead_ and not plastered like he believed he was.

“Death usually shows up to guide me back or some shit. I – I couldn’t let you die, Ky. It wasn’t your time. I pleaded with Death and they agreed that it wasn’t fair that you died because you were _stupid_ enough to try and save me. So we brought you back.” He sighs and slumps back, tired from all of the honesty. “I can’t promise it’s not gonna happen again, Kyle, I know what you’re thinking.”

“You pleaded with _Death?”_ Kyle chokes out, leaning forward and into his space.

He shrugs, “Me an’ Death go way back, man, we’re buddies.” God, Kyle’s too close to him. “So, like, if you ever think about saving me from certain danger again, don’t. Just wait for me to come back, yeah?”

Kyle nods slowly, hands coming up to scrub furiously at his eyes. “It’s Saturday, I need to sleep and to process this.”

He nods, understanding that it _is_ a lot to take in. “I’ll get out of your hair then.” He stands up and dusts his jeans off unnecessarily.

“No!” Kyle’s hand shoots out to grip his wrist, eyes wide and pleading. “Stay, please.”

“Oh,” He breathes out. _Oh, fucking hell_ , figures he’d cause the other emotional trauma with his death. He used to wish someone would remember. He’d definitely been wrong wishing that, mostly because this fucking _sucks._ Not even the image of Kyle on his knees in front of him does anything to fix how shitty he feels for making the other feel bad.

“Yeah, okay.” He lets Kyle lead him to the bed, a scene similar to the ones that happen when he visits Butters late at night. Except this is Kyle, this is _his_ Kyle, the one that has his heart in a vice grip. It’s so inherently different that it makes Kenny nervous.

Kyle clambers up into the bed first, lying on his side, and Kenny follows his lead. He toes off his sneakers and gets in, facing Kyle and trying to ease his breathing. They’re a little old for sleepovers. Especially considering Kenny generally has a giant heart boner for the redhead who’s now staring at him silently and unblinkingly.

He doesn’t know when he drifts off. All he knows is that he gets tired of trying to maintain eye contact with Kyle and he lowers his lids to ease the constricting of his chest.

* * *

 

Things go back to normal again – as normal as things for South Park residents are. Kyle, though, is a little bitter that nobody besides him remembers but he’ll get over it.

In the first few days he’s also _exceptionally_ clingy. It drives Kenny _crazy_ to have him that close and yet _not close enough_. Kyle clings to him when Stan drives them to school and they’re sitting the back seat, when they’re seated in the cafeteria and eating, when they’re doing pair stretches during PE. Kenny would be flattered if the other wasn’t driving him up the wall with gestures of kindness and – _are you cold Kenny? Did you eat yet, Kenny? Are you feeling okay, Kenny? Do you want me to drop by the store with food today, Kenny?_

“Jesus, Kyle!” He bursts out after Kyle offers to carry his books to class even though it’s on the opposite side to his own. “Do you wanna _wipe my ass_ as well?!” He asks meanly, hissing at the other. He regrets it the instant that Kyle’s face falls and his eyes grow watery.

“Look,” He grips the other’s wrist and tugs him into the empty little boy’s room.

“Look,” He starts again. “I appreciate it, Ky, I really do. But you don’t have to hover around me like this. I’m fine. I’ve been through this a thousand times and this time is no different. I’m perfectly fine taking care of myself. I know you want to help but – can we just put it behind us and move on?” He runs a hand through his hair. He knows he looks rumpled and annoyed and he hopes _Kyle_ doesn’t take it personally it’s just that – it’s taking Kenny a lot to keep his feelings under control when Kyle is so casually _boyfriend-y_ all of a sudden. Kenny needs him to stop before something unbearably stupid comes out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle looks at his shoes, a frown tugging at his lips. “I’m just worried.”

“I know. I appreciate it.” He leans back against the sink, “But if it’s gonna happen again then it’s gonna happen again. There’s no stopping it. Just make sure to let me know how much time’s passed and have like, some water ready or something.” He grins as Kyle snorts. Good, past that then.

“Okay, yeah, okay. I’ll try.” Kyle reassures him and he nods.

Figures that, because he’s got shit luck, that afternoon as they’re walking back home (because Stan has football practice) Kenny gets speared through the head like he’s in some mediaeval battle. He hears Kyle scream before he blacks out.

* * *

 

Two times had to have been a coincidence, but _three damn times_ is no chance at all.

He wakes up on Kyle’s floor and stares at the clock on the wall, 5 a.m.

“Kyle?” He questions quietly and Kyle springs up in his bed, eyes wide and scared.

“Kenny!” The other hisses harshly, tapping the lamp on the nightstand and turning it on.

Kenny blinks at the light suddenly filling the room as Kyle rummages around for something. A bottle of water gets pushed into his hands and he gulps it down eagerly.

“Thanks,” He mumbles, running a hand through his hair and plopping back onto the floor. 

 “It’s been a day.” Kyle whispers into the humid air of the room, the heat’s still on despite it being April now.

He hums, “Good, not too much time.”

“Ken, that was fucking awful.” Kyle admits and a hand reaches for him, tugging him up and into the bed like it’s second nature to them when it’s anything but.

“Yeah, it was.” He admits, his head still hurts a little with the phantom feeling of being speared through.

“Where’d that even fucking come from?” Kyle hisses, angry that something so ridiculous happened.

“Dunno, these things just happen sometimes.” He shrugs best he can while laying sideways with Kyle still gripping onto one of his wrists. “Don’t think too hard about it, we’ve got finals coming up.”

“Your job?” Kyle suddenly asks.

Kenny snorts, of course Kyle would think about that. “They probably think that I showed up. A few hours before my death and it’s like I was either where I was supposed to be or didn’t exist there at all. It’s weird.”

“I’ll fucking say.” Kyle snorts and closes his eyes. “Come on, we still have a while before it’s school time.”

“Night, Ky,” He says, hopes that Kyle can’t pick up on the fondness in his tone.

“Night, Ken.” Kyle responds, already half asleep.

He dies again a couple of days later and wakes up on the floor of Kyle’s bedroom. The death’s come closer together now again. He hates it. Hates the look on Kyle’s face when he stirs in the middle of the night to find Kenny on his floor. Hates how heartbroken Kyle seems sometimes.

But it’s not worse than the fact that Kyle pulls him up into his bed every damn time. Without fail, Kyle asks him to stay for reassurance each time. It’s the best and worst two week of his life, sleeping in Kyle’s bed that’s leagues more comfortable than his own, sleeping next to _Kyle_ – it’s more than he ever thought he’d get, even _if_ it’s strictly platonic.

But – that’s the problem, too. He’s not waking up in his own bed anymore; he’s waking up wherever Kyle is. And Kyle’s supposed to go on a summer vacation, a trip around Europe. He’s gonna be _away_ and Kenny doesn’t know what this means for them, for _him_.

“Stop that.” Kyle smacks at his hand and Kenny realizes he’s been gnawing on his nails nervously for the past few minutes.

“I'm worried, Ky!” He whines, dramatically bending backwards over the edge of the redhead’s bed. It’s noon on a Sunday, he’d woken up here after being dead for a few hours. “You’re going away and what if I keep waking up here while you’re gone? Worse yet, what if I go _with_ you?! I can’t go to Europe! I don’t have the cash!”

“I'm sure it’ll be fine. If you wake up here then you can let yourself out.” Kyle shrugs from behind his book, something for his AP science class.

“Kyleeee,” He wails pathetically. He can't _afford_ to go to Europe. He doesn’t have the time to waste a summer on another continent. He has to take care of his family, has to take care of Karen first. He’s never – well okay, he’s been to Somalia and to Peru but that was some bullshit they got pulled into as kids. He was also in Canada a few times but this is different. Nobody’s in danger, nobody’s kidnapping him or forcing him to go anywhere.

“Why do you think this is happening anyway?” Kyle asks, lowering the book and poking him in the stomach.

He squirms and wiggles away from the prodding. He knew this question was coming, he’s seen it in Kyle’s eyes each time. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to put it into words and whatever he says next is gonna sound so fucking _gay_. Mostly because it kinda is.

“Uh, when Death brought you back I sort of had to help so. Um.” He turns away from Kyle’s imploring eyes. “They took a piece of my soul and gave it to you.” He stares at the ceiling and ignores the hitch in Kyle’s breathing.

“Kenny, that’s super fucking gay.” Kyle says levelly and Kenny can’t help but laugh at that.

“Yeah, well, I'm super fucking queer so.” He grins as Kyle snorts; he’s extremely fuckin’ pleased that they’d managed to stop the awkwardness from rising.

“Please, everyone knows that.” Kyle responds, joining him in hanging over the side of the bed. Except the redhead is taller and his feet are halfway up the wall now. He has some shitty green socks patterned with little broccoli like the loser he is.

“Oh? Been hearing stories about my conquests, have you?” He nudges the other with his elbow suggestively and Kyle pinches the skin of his upper arm.      

“You’re the talk of the town, McCormick.” Kyle rolls his eyes and thumps a low beat against the hollow of his stomach.

“What’ve they been sayin’, huh? Tell me more.” He darts up and lays himself across Kyle’s midsection, crushing the redhead under his weight.

Kyle groans at the impact. “Nope. Your giant ego doesn’t need more stroking.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you exactly _what_ needs a good stroke.” He flirts aimlessly; it’s always brought him pleasure to see Kyle squirm under his scrutiny. It was the only indulgence he let himself have with the other that didn’t immediately make him want to jump under a bus from the fluttering in his chest.

“Gross, dude.” Kyle chokes out and Kenny tries not to take it personally. His phrasing _is_ always a little skeevy, he can’t blame the other. Kenny always makes sure not to say anything too honestly

They lapse into silence and Kenny pulls out his phone to check who’s been texting him insistently over the past half an hour. It’s, of course, Butters. He’s raving about how his parents banned him from going to the after-finals party and that he hates them and that maybe he’ll tell Stan if Kenny helps him sneak out of the house. It’s a solid plan. Maybe he should help the blonde, make it easier on all of them.

_> ur a braver man than i am, butters_

He texts back, think about how Butters will probably need to be very clear with his words if he _does_ tell Stan because, much like Kyle, the boy’s fucking _dense_. He sighs heavily, chest half on top of Kyle and half tipped towards the soft bed. He can feel Kyle heaving breaths under him, diaphragm working overtime under his kilos.

“Hey?” He tilts his head to the side to see Kyle better and finds the redhead already watching him.

“What’s up?” Kyle asks, a hand wiggling under him and onto Kenny’s head to fiddle with his wavy locks.

He tries not to enjoy the feeling too much. It’s a rare intimate moment for them and he has to tell himself he’s not feeling that he’s feeling. But his heart knows exactly what it’s not supposed to be feeling. He almost forgets what he was about to say.

“You goin’ to the after-finals party?” He finally mumbles out, falling into a deeper state of relaxation the more Kyle messes with his hair.

“Dunno, gonna have to pack then.” Kyle hums, seemingly too distracted to notice his fingers that are now massaging Kenny’s scalp.

 _Fuck you, you ginger fucker. Maybe Cartman was onto something when he said you were a daywalking red devil._ He thinks to himself, not really meaning the words. It’s just that – Kyle doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know that Kenny is fighting a boner and trying to stop himself from groaning with pleasure at the intimate gesture that’s probably just a friendly pat on the head to Kyle. The redhead doesn’t know how the heart-boner kills him. He never realizes and Kenny is always left reeling and shoving feelings under the carpet.

“You gotta get plastered with the rest of us before you leave, man.” Kenny whines again, tugging slowly out of the grip even if it pains him.

“I’m not leaving _forever_ , Ken.” Kyle laughs and smacks him on the back with an open palm.

He grunts, “Yeah, but you’ll be gone for who knows how long! Maybe you leave for Europe, find some exotic Spanish beauty there and stay with her? Maybe you get your ass whopped by a German dominatrix and get too scared to leave! Maybe you fall off a mountain in Greece and _die.”_ He wails dramatically – all of those are probable options (maybe not the German dominatrix one but – it’s Kyle, they’ve seen weirder shit).

“Jesus, Ken, I’m not going to Europe to fuck around and party. If I wanted to do that I’d stay here. I’m going around famous museums and historical sites; I wanna see other places that aren’t Hickville, America.” Kyle nudges him away and Kenny does an aborted push-up and then lets Kyle push him odd the rest of the way. He watches Kyle stretch to rummage around his nightstand for a moment, observes the curve of his back and how the shirt clings to his shoulder blade.

“Don’t they _only_ do that in Europe? I always heard they were savages; nudist beaches and drug-laden raves _everywhere_ , the barbarians!” He grins at Kyle’s derisive scoff.

“You watched one Rob Schneider movie too many.” Kyle broings himself back up in a smooth motion that Kenny sort-of envies a lot. There is a notebook in his hand and it soon slaps Kenny in the chest as Kyle tosses it at him.

“Only European Rob Schnitzel movie I’ve seen is the American gigolo, and that shit fucking sucked.” He laments and opens up the leather-bound notebook.

The first page reads _The Great EuroTrip._ Kenny laughs at that and flicks Kyle’s shoulder in jest, “You fucking nerd, I knew you liked that movie!”

“Shut up, fucker, it’s a convenient name.” Kyle grumbles, shying away from his imploring eyes.

The second page held all the locations he wanted to visit sorted by country then city, then in a branching formation: localities, museums, eateries. Of course Kyle would have it all planned out, there was nothing Kyle didn’t plan for. Everything was written down to a T, the schedule had time stamps for everything. There was a time limit for how long he could spend at certain places, how much time he could spend eating, sleeping, bathroom breaks and even a plus/minus for if his transport was late.

“You do realize this is going to fall through just because you’re Kyle Broflovski of South Park, right?” He glances back up to see Kyle with a constipated look on his face. It seems as though Kyle _had_ taken that into account.

With a shrug Kyle leans back against his legs, putting a strain over a bruise Kenny didn’t know he had. “Yeah but just because of that, it’ll work out in the end like it always has, no?”

“Guess you’re right.” Kenny grins as a morbid thought enters his head. “Maybe I’ll be there to take the death for the team again anyway, depending on if I keep waking up near you.”

Kyle’s face pales. They’ve never talked about the previous times he’d died and Kyle never remembered the past, present only. But now he must be thinking about it and Kenny wishes he’d stopped fucking talking while he still could have. He looks down at the notebook again, tracing a thumb over the letters.

The list of countries read a little like this:

Ireland, Scotland, United Kingdom. Then France and Austria with only several locations there. Then some more in Germany, then the capital of Hungary. He notices the lack of Scandinavian countries and figures Kyle must be sick of the cold already. Some city in a country under Hungary that’s named Croatia, then some more cities in that. Something named Dubrovnik and Split that had little boats drawn next to them, meaning they’re probably at sea. Then Macedonia and Greece and then a boat again, to Malta and to Italy. Next to last is Spain and then last is Portugal.

He knows that the plan was made logically and he turns to page to see the map of Europe printed with all the cities and countries marked off. There’s scribbled writing underneath that looks like Kyle crossed off quite a bit of what he had planned and only remained true to the ones he really wanted to see. He can imagine Kyle angsting over the trip and planning it with tortured eyes from nights spent staring at the map of Europe and searching up cities to visit. It’s a scene he can so clearly picture that it’s like he’d been there with the redhead during the planning phase.

“You really done that before? For us?” Kyle asks quietly, Kenny probably shouldn’t have left him to his thoughts for too long but it’s too late now, Kyle’s brain works too fast.

“Yeah, sometimes. When it was necessary and I knew that things would work out if I died, I took one for the team.” He shrugs; at this point it’s not his biggest concern in life. Their adventures have settled some since they were kids but sometimes muggings, like that night behind the bleachers, happen and he bites the bullet – almost literally.

“That’s shitty, Ken. I’m sorry for not remembering.” Kyle whispers and Kenny turns his eyes away from the honest expression on his face. “Thank you,” Kyle adds. If it were anyone else, Kenny would have said it was proclaimed in afterthought. Not Kyle, though.

“It’s for the best. The rest of you don’t come back so I might as well make good of this curse, yeah?” He tries to smile but he’s honestly so tired. He should get home; he promised Karen he’d order them a pizza since the old deadbeats weren’t home again.

“Need to go,” He makes a show out of rolling off the bed and onto the floor with flourish. “Karen’s home alone so I gotta order some grub.” He goes over to the window and hitches a leg over the frame.

“Be careful,” Kyle warns and Kenny chuckles.

“What, ‘fraid I’ll die?” He jokes but it falls flat. He always forgets not everyone looks Death in the eyes – well, nose, you can’t really see their eyes from the hood – and flirts with it. He lets his cocky demeanour slip, only for Kyle’s sake though, only for his eyes. “I’ll be careful. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He waits for Kyle’s nod before hooking himself onto the sloping roof above the window. He scales up the side of it and then onto the telephone pole nearest to the house, using the repairman’s way down. The movements are familiar, they’re muscle memory sue to the many times he’s done this before.  

He crosses the tracks and enters his own house. Shaking off his loosely-tied sneakers, he heads for the living room.

“You eaten yet, Kar?” He plops down next to her on the couch, already pulling out his phone.

“Uh, don’t call me that, dweeb!” She whines and he ruffles her hair just to annoy her.

“But you’re my little Kar-Bear!” He croons and she pinches his sides mercilessly.

“I had an apple earlier and some toast in the morning.” She shrugs, they’re all used to small rations and an empty stomach.

“I’m ordering pizza, whatever you want – anything but shitty pineapple.” He grimaces.

“You’re just a pussy that’s afraid of _excitement!_ You’re a dry pussy, Ken! _”_ She scolds him with a wagging finger and an upturned nose.

“I’d rather go skinny dipping in Stark’s Pond for excitement, thanks.” He dials the pizza place and orders a Hawaiian pizza anyway.

Once they’ve had their share of pizza and some freshly squeezed tap water, he leans back and watches her do the dishes like she’d volunteered to.

“Hey, I might be away for the summer.” He drops casually, not sure if she’ll even remember if he suddenly went missing and it was death-oriented. 

She shoots him a look over her shoulder, “Away _where_?”

“Europe.” He winces as the plate in her hand clatters back into the sink that’s filled with water because the drains clogged halfway.

“Fuckin’ Europe, Ken?” She hisses, turning to him fully and sprinkling him with water as she waves her hands.

“Yeah, not sure. It’s for a job, I might go and I might not.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“You going alone?” She wrings the dirty dishrag in her small fists.

“Nah, going with Kyle.” As the words leave his mouth her face takes on a less-serious look and gets covered by a wide smirk.

“Oh?” She leans against the sink cabinet. “You goin’ on a couple’s cruise around the Mediterranean?”

“Fuck off,” He folds his arms over his chest. “It’s for a job.”

“What’s the job then?” She questions and his mind blanks, her smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.” She returns to washing the two plates. “I’m happy for you Ken, you finally stopped pining.”

Oh how he wishes it were true. He wishes he’d fucking stop already. He tried fucking the feelings out, tried dying – thought maybe he could kill the feelings as well, tried getting drunk (and subsequently dying of alcohol poisoning), but nothing worked. Nothing could get his head out of Kyle Broflovski’s ass and Kyle’s hand off his heart, the grip there strong.

“Bring me back some postcards.” She puts the dishes into the drying rack and pats him on the back.

He stares at the leftover pizza listlessly and wonders how selfish would it be of him if he just scarfed down the rest alone.

* * *

 

He breezes through the finals with the knowledge of someone who didn’t care enough about his grades. His mentality was, and is always going to be, _I’ve learned what I could, no sense in stressing over it._

He bums a smoke off of Craig outside the school. They’re technically not supposed to smoke here but they don’t care much about the rules and neither do the teachers who usually just smoke with them.  Craig wasn’t too pleased with his mooching but the taller was too happy that the last of the exams was over and that he could finally relax to say anything about it. He saw it in the other’s hazel eyes, though, just for a moment, and it made the petty part of him pleased.

He smiles to himself, kicking away a rock and inhaling from the cancer stick. The week of exams fucking sucked balls and he’d barely seen Kyle at all. Mostly because Kyle was taking this seriously, unlike Kenny. And he’d gotten used to hanging out with Kyle so frequently again that his absence was felt noticeably.

“You waiting for the boyfriend?”

Kenny pauses, making sure he hadn’t said those words, then making sure nobody else was around. He turns to the side to eye Craig warily.

“Isn’t that my line?”

Craig grins, pearly whites (straightened by recently-taken-off braces) shining in the sun. It was a strange thing to see on his face, such a shit-eating grin. While he _had_ lightened up some over the years, he’s still an asshole and he’s still in perpetual gloom mode. It’s probably the elation again. They’re friends, though, and Kenny’s glad – if only for the fact that Craig has good taste when it comes to music and cigarettes and he’s too handsome for his own good so Kenny can stare at him all he wants.

“Is it?” Craig blows smoke directly into his face and he punches him in the shoulder out of annoyance.

“Fuck off, Kyle’s not my boyfriend.” He grumbles, moodily looking off into the distance to try and stop his face from burning.

“Ah, but you knew who I was talking about. I could have been talking about Butters but you _knew_ it was Kyle, flyboy.” Craig’s smug smile makes Kenny want to deck him in his perfect nose. Then again, he always low-key wants to punch Craig.

He decides not to let the words deter him and instead puts on his usual cocky attitude – never show weakness in the presence of Craig Tucker.

“Why, Craig! Are you concerned now that I’m off the market? You’ve finally come around to admitting that you want a piece of this all to yourself?” He motions to himself, jutting his bony hips out and batting his eyelashes at Craig. “You tired of the same old thing? Want a slice of something new? Want this sweet ass to hop on your -”

“Kenny!”

Craig, looking as murderous as ever, whips around to see Kyle jogging up to them with a smile on his face.

“Hey, babe.” He winks cheekily and Kyle’s steps faltere awkwardly for a moment. He snorts as the redhead smacks him on the back. “How’d you do? What was it, psychology?”

“Yup. Think I missed one question but, nobody’s perfect.” Kyle grins and he leans up against him teasingly.

“Well – nobody but me, of course,” Kenny’s smile stretches across his face, pulling at his cheeks, as he twirls a lock of blond hair between nimble fingers.

He can’t keep the pretence for long though and they both break away laughing, only further annoying Craig who was probably regretting ever talking to Kenny in the first place.

“God, you two are gross.” Craig grunts and flicks away the cigarette butt. “I’ll see you at the party, fuckers.” Craig shrugs his bag back onto his shoulder and heads for the entrance where Tweek was emerging, looking slightly nauseous – probably from the exam and possibly the stress of it all.

“He’s such a hypocrite.” Kenny sighs as he watches Craig pick Tweek up for a twirl in a move that seems so effortless and natural for them. God, he wishes he had that with someone – however cynical he is, he still aches for something more.

“What were you two talking about anyway? He looked like you pissed in his pack of Lucky Strikes.” Kyle nudges him in the direction of his car and he starts walking.

He shrugs, getting into the passenger seat of the old car. “You know, just gay things.”

“Gay things, huh?” Kyle smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah, you know.” He waves his hand in the air vaguely and then turns the motion into a handy. “Comparing dicks we sucked. Tucker’s resume isn’t very impressive.”

“Jesus, Ken, you’re shameless.” Kyle’s laughing, though, and that’s all Kenny can ask for.

“You know me, I am what I am.” He leans against the closed door, slightly tilted to the side so he can see Kyle’s profile. The stereo is playing Nirvana as always, _In Bloom_ currently.

“Never change, Ken, never change.” Kyle responds, words so soft Kenny can barely make them out but when he does, they stir up that warmth in his gut again.

“Couldn’t even if I tried.”

* * *

 

The party was in full swing by the time he’d managed to drag Kyle away from his suitcase (in which Kyle had not-so-sneakily put some of his smaller shirts, just in case Kenny _did_ end up going with him) and into the car that they’d probably be ditching at Clyde’s place if they got too smashed.

The party is at the Donovan residence this time, the second largest house and mostly because Clyde has a good basement space free to use. There are a couple of old couches down there and a decent sound system that runs through the house, a table in the corner set up to be a makeshift bar with a beer keg next to it. The basement and the ground floor are the party zones – however, no one was allowed upstairs or in the kitchen. It was fine, considering last time they’d broken some of his mom’s fine China and gotten Clyde in deep shit.

He pushes Kyle through the door and towards the basement, trying to avoid talking to anyone while he was still sober. All his friends are down below anyway, the ground floor is filled with the wider circle of friends he doesn’t associate himself with – more of a _my friend’s friend_ type of crowd.

“Where’s the fire, McCormick?” Bebe shouts at him from somewhere over the loud music.

“In a rush to get plastered, love, can’t talk to you sober!” He calls back, not caring if she heard him or not. Kyle snorts in front of him, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Not looking to get some tonight?” Kyle teases, still letting himself be manhandled even though he’s taller and wider than Kenny and perfectly capable of walking by himself.

“She’ll put out just fine if I ask nicely.”

“Dude, not cool.” Kyle warns with a frown and Kenny scoffs.

He gets it; he knows what it sounds like. It’s not as if they talk about it but Kenny has a sort of _friends with benefits_ thing going on with Bebe. They are compatible and it was easy, a convenience and comfort thing. Kenny can always go to her if he didn’t want to put in an effort or start something new and the same went for Bebe. He’d been her rebound fuck before, they were cool. It’s just that he doesn’t talk about it with Kyle – or anyone, really. And for some reason, he’d like to keep it that way. Maybe because he doesn’t want to tarnish the picture of him Kyle has in his mind any further. Maybe because of something else undisclosed.

“It’s fine, she knows I love her.” He winks and Kyle rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“Yo! You made it!” Stan ambles over to them, obviously already a little buzzed on adult juice because he’s happy and bubbly.

“Had to drag him out the house but we sure did!” He pushes Kyle forward with a little too much force and Stan catches him in a bear-hug, probably remembering that Kyle was leaving tomorrow, squeezing the daylight out of him.

“I gotta jet, I’ll be back in 30 minutes tops.” He throws a thumb back behind him, ready to go hop the fence and help Butters out like he promised he would.

“What? You’re leaving?” Kyle whines, most definitely thinking about being ditched by drunk Stan during the night and having to fend for himself.

“Relax, dude, I’m gonna go get Butters then we’ll be back.” He snorts and bats away Stan’s hands that are trying to get him to stay put.

The quarterback’s face wrinkles at that, something weird coming over his expression that Kenny can’t quite place. Not jealousy? No, definitely not. Maybe along the lines of quiet resignation.

“His parents again?” Stan asks, somehow even more subdued than that look was.

“Yeah. No worries, though. Mysterion’s on the fucking case, my dude!” He shakes Stan by the shoulders and the other releases a little chuckle.

“Well, go on, go get your boy.” Those words coming out of Stan’s mouth make him uneasy for a myriad of reasons. Stan shouldn’t look that insecure – ever. Especially when it concerns Butters’ affection. But Stan’s too pure to feel jealousy so he feels everything else twice, instead.  

“God, why does everyone assume they know who I’m dating!?” He was getting real tired of people pushing relationships onto him and thinking they knew what’s up. The only person who knew _what’s up_ was Butters and that’s only because Butters is, well, _Butters._ Butters knows him inside and out like very few do. Kyle comes close but there is an obvious secret there being carefully guarded and herded away from the redhead.  

“Wait, who-” Stan frowns and tries to start another round of questions but Kyle interjects.

“Oh, but you _are_ dating?”

Everyone is so fucking weird lately. He sighs. Something’s definitely off with them, something glaringly obvious that escapes him at the moment and it’s _frustrating._ He’s used to knowing what the problem is but the inflection of the pronunciation, Kyle’s face, Stan’s words – everything is slightly tilted off balance.

“No, I’m not. Trust me; you guys would be the first to know. I gotta go, Butters’ folks are watching that evening Christian show and it’s the only time they’ll bet too busy to notice something’s off. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?” He doesn’t wait for a response.

He turns around and climbs the stairs two at a time, eager to get away from the weird little bubble they’d trapped him in. Who knows what goes on inside their heads? Kenny liked to think he did, but maybe that’s not so. Maybe he’s had it wrong all this time. However, this was not a night for re-evaluating his whole existence and the basis of what he believed he knew. The music is making his head pound unpleasantly, the bass so insistent it shakes his lungs. 

He jumps the fence in the Donovans’ back yard and runs across the yard of the house behind theirs before jumping their fence as well. He crosses the street easily and ducks around the corner of the Stotch residence. He stands under Butters’ window and throws a pebble at the glass there. The window pops open and Butters sticks his head out.

“You gonna catch me, Ken?” Butters hushes down at him and Kenny reaches his arms up.

It’s not a big drop, if Leo hangs out the window he’ll be able to grab his shins and then slide him downwards. They’ve done this before, even when Kenny was shorter. Maybe he should have brought Kyle along for height purposes.

“Don’t I always?” He grins and readies himself as they go through the process.

He gets Butters down safely and the other hugs him briefly before they meander over to the street, careful to avoid the window looking into the living room.

“You gonna tell him then?” He asks, nudging the shorter blonde with his shoulder, making him stumble a little.

Butters colors brightly, visible even under the faint moonlight and lamplight. “It’s my last chance before he goes off to college in the fall. He got in on a football scholarship, you know. He’s gonna be a big thing out there.” The shorter student smiles to himself and Kenny feels a sympathetic pang of pain in his heart.

“I heard. He’s good at what he does.” He offers butters a hand as they climb the Donovans’ fence and Butters takes it easily. Their hands stay linked in a silent gesture of comfort and encouragement. It was always easy with Butters.

“Ay, ditched me for a shorter and blonder babe, huh, McCormick?!” Bebe hollers form the back porch where she’s lighting up a smoke.

He snorts, “He’s got a better ass than you, love, what can a man do?”

“Ken,” Butters whines. He may be a little shit now but he still gets flustered at obvious compliments, especially when they’re stated so boldly. And they don’t get much bolder than coming from Kenny – at least until it matters. It’s cute and always amusing so Kenny always dishes them out generously.

“Damn, you’re right. Can’t even blame you, Kenneth, you little minx.” She grins and he kisses her cheek when he’s close enough. She gives Butters’ ass a little smack and he giggles at it. She’s obviously sobered up some again but he knows they’re just getting started.

“You wanna go back with me when the party’s over?” She asks and the proposition is what it is but he shakes his head.

“Nah, gotta help Kyle finish packing for his roadtrip across Europe. Made me promise I’ll help because I dragged him here before he could be done with it.” He takes the smoke from her and takes a drag before handing it to Butters who does the same; just a little nicotine for the nerves.

“You’re whipped, Ken.” She grins wiggling her fingers so that Butters’ll hand her the cigarette back.

“Fuck off, Stevens.” He rolls his eyes. So what if he was? He didn’t need people telling him that all the time. Everyone keeps looking at him like he’s some sort of lovesick fool that can barely function on his own when in fact, he’s done well all these years.

But, they think it’s only a _recent_ development because his guard’s been slipping more often now. He used to be able to hide behind the hood of his parka or a scarf, used to be able to distract himself with the novelty that were boobs and girls in general. And then later guys and dicks. Now, when he’s seen it all, it’s only Kyle left.

“Someone’s bitchy tonight, huh?” She whispers to Butters conspiratorially and he doesn’t take it personally but he does want to get significantly more drunk than he is now so he ushers Butters inside.

“They’re in the basement, come on.” The music assaults them as soon as they open the door, what was once muted is now on its way to giving Kenny a headache. Right, drinks.

They make it to the basement where the usual suspects are sprawled over the three sofas there.

“And the last of the real ones are here,” Craig calls out, gesturing with his beer and is followed by a few other people cheering _‘hear-ye, hear-ye’._

“Shut your mouth, emo boy!” He grins, dropping onto the couch next to him and Tweek, pulling Butters into his lap. “Want something to drink?” He asks the boy in his lap and Butters nods.

“Liquid courage,” Butters whispers to him and he grins.

“Kyle, babe!” He calls out to the other couch and the redhead’s gaze immediately zeroes in on him, a dopey smile on his face. He’s probably not helping the relationship status-related bullying with all these nicknames. “Can you grab me a beer and some shots for Butters, please and thank you!”

Kyle looks at him quizzically and then nods, getting up to fetch the order. Kenny smiles gratefully, if Kyle was completely sober he wouldn’t have ever deigned to answer him much less comply.

Craig scoffs next to him, bringing the beer in his hands up to his lips. “And Bebe says _you’re_ whipped.”

“He’s just being a good friend, Tucker, not like you’d know – what with the lack of such on your part and all.” He grins as Butters giggles and Clyde snorts from the other couch.

“Walked into that one, Craig.” Tweek grins and Craig shrugs, seemingly unaffected but Kenny can see the annoyed twitch of his eye because he’s learned all of Craig’s tells playing poker against him.

Kyle walks over with the drinks and hands Butters the shot. The shorter blonde downs it like a champ and he whoops, nudging him off his lap and pulling Kyle down next to and half on top of him.

“Man, McCormick, you’re just swappin’ them out!” Token calls out and Kenny gives him a two thumbs up, taking the beer from the redhead who’s hanging his head back. Kyle seems to have gotten started with the drinking early so that he can sober up sooner. Kenny should _probabl_ y stop early as well, he needs to take the redhead to the airport in the morning. That’s a longass drive and he’d rather not do it hungover.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game?” He tries and Kyle snorts so loud that it makes Tweek twitch in surprise.

“What do they see in you, McCormick?” Heidi sighs out loud, seemingly disappointed.

“I don’t know, Turner. What _do_ you see in me?” He levels her with one of his panty-dropping smirks and half-lidded looks and she flushes, hiding her face in Wendy’s shoulder.

“God, sometimes I hate you.” Jimmy laments, putting away his phone and finally joining the party and Kenny shoots him a wolfish grin.

“Anyone seen Cartman?” Stan looks around, noticing the lack of an annoying fatass only now.

“Seen him up with Bebe and some of her Instagram girls, they were doing shots off of someone.” Kevin slides into their circle and plops down onto the floor in front of the couch, leaning against his leg slightly and Kenny wants to tip him over just to be a dick about it.

“Figures,” He snorts, and Kyle makes a disgruntled noise.

“We should save those girls.” Kyle comments, half hearted as it is it tugs at something nasty inside of Kenny.

“You lookin’ to get laid tonight, Broflovski? A going away present?” Clyde opens his big fucking mouth and Kenny fits his hand over one of Kyle’s thighs, marvelling at the sturdy muscle there, clenching his fingers and trying not to get violent with the loudmouth.  

“What? Dude, you’re not gonna be at graduation?” Stan whines, tugging away from his and Butters’ conversation for a moment and thankfully disrupting Clyde’s line of questioning. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning, Ken’s driving me to the airport. Gonna pick up the diploma later.” Kyle rights himself on the couch, settling against Kenny firmly while still having his legs draped over the blonde’s lap.

“Dudeee,” Stan tries to make a grab for Kyle on the couch but Butters stops him and pulls him back with a quick motion that they all silently appreciate.

“Stay put, Marsh, this couch’s barely afloat with all these fatasses on it.” Craig warns, probably sensing the Butters-Stan thing that’s about to develop and Tweek protests at being included but Craig shushes him with a smooch.

“Good boy,” Craig smirks as Stan obediently settles down. Marsh flushes and turns away, sulkily drinking his whiskey but letting Butters pat his back in consolation.

Kenny takes a sip of his beer, the cool liquid slides down his throat and provides some sort of relief from how stuffy he’s feeling. He unconsciously rubs a thumb over the inner seam of Kyle’s jeans and the redhead hums. He looks up and to the side to see Kyle staring at him dopily again, he wonders what that look means. It’s sweet either way. A little alcohol always made Kyle sleepy and cuddly, a lot of it made him confrontational and chatty – putting the cutting edge of truth to his words that would often leave him with bruises.

“Hey, if you _do_ end up going with me, I’ll be happy to have you there.” Kyle says quietly in an effort to be secretive but, unfortunately, not quietly enough. Kyle has poor volume control when sober and even worse when drunk and Kenny regrets not warning him about it sooner.  

“Oh? What’s this? You goin’ with Kyle on his year-round European trip? This some sort of honeymoon or what?” Clyde grins at them sharply, looking to dig into painful spots but too bad for him that Kyle and Kenny are impervious to damage. Also, Kenny can’t die so.

“Oh, for sure! We eloped when Ky turned 18, kept it a secret. We waited for school to finish so we can finally hit the road as newlyweds. Isn’t that right, honey?” He leans towards Kyle, shoving his face into the redhead’s personal space which is already mostly invaded by him anyway.

“God, yeah, it’s been a long time coming, sweetheart!” Kyle croons right back, the routine familiar from years of teasing and mocking endured. _Oh, how Kenny wishes._

“So gross!” Clyde releases peals of laughter and Kyle swats at him.

“You’re just jealous because _I_ get to have a piece of Kenneth McCormick’s soul with me and you losers don’t!” Kyle turns to him, a devilish grin on his face as they share the inside joke that would have been a bit too morbid if it were anyone else making it.

“Stole my heart, babes.” He wishes it was a filthy fucking lie but it’s _not_.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots Butters tugging Stan up the stairs and out of the room. Kenny thinks it’s high time for him to play wingman and cause a scene so that nobody calls the two budding lovers out on it. He downs what’s left of his beer and in a complicated motion folds Kyle’s legs up then spreads them and slots himself between the long limbs. People around them erupt in scandalised laughter and gasps, Craig and Tweek vacate the couch with outraged shouts and admirable haste.

“Be faced with our love, non-believers!” He screams and Kyle laughs under him, as easy as breathing. He dips down and pretends to go for a kiss but buries his head in the crook of the other’s neck instead. People are still laughing, good. Nothing to see here; just guys being bros and bros being dudes or however that goes.

“Ah, young love!” Token laments and raises his glass up to them. Everyone drinks and Kenny eases back off of Kyle who looks flustered but has a happy grin on his face. They’re good. He’s still in the clear. No pathetic ‘ _I Love You’_ s written all over his face.

Kyle looks away and then he sees a frown appear on the redhead’s face. Kenny lets him get up and then they’re sitting normally side by side again. The redhead leans to whisper in his ear and Kenny shivers at the hot breath that tickles him.

“Where’s Stan?” Kyle asks and _ah, okay, yes_. Time to clue Kyle in about that.

He fits a palm over Kyle’s neck to steady his swaying and leans in to whisper back. “Butters took him up and outside I think. He’s gonna tell ‘im.”

“No shit!?” Kyle mutters, a smile stretching his face. “Good for them, then.”

He wishes he had the balls, the courage and the mental capacity to do the same. But, Stan’s already pretty much in love with Butters so – there’s no doubting that, even _if_ the noirette is a bit confused about what he’s feeling. They’ll work out just fine.

Some time passes again, they don’t move much from the couch other than to get more drinks and to play cards. They play Uno but make it into a drinking game. Clyde gets sloshed fairly quickly because he keeps getting _+4_ s pulled on him way too often – courtesy of sitting between Kyle and Wendy. At one point a round of three _draw 2_ cards reaches Kyle and Kenny watches, amused, as the redhead downs the three shots with a whiny grunt. Kenny, being the only one sober enough to strategize, wins the three rounds they play. Everyone complains but he earned his win fair so he flips them off.

He sits out on the round after that and watches everything fall apart as Heidi throws herself across the small table in misery at the fan of thirty cards in her hands. Someone spills something onto the ground and some of the cards, something get’s thrown across the room and then people are shouting about cheating and how you _can’t fucking cheat at Uno you fucking dumpster fire!_ And: _You fuckers ganged up on me, it’s not fair!_

Kenny checks his phone and finds that it’s already two in the morning. They should get going. Usually they’d just sleep over or get back at around 4 in the morn’ but they have places to be tomorrow – namely, the airport. He has to see Kyle off like some sort of forlorn waif just because Kyle refuses to let anyone else drive his shitty car. In a way, it makes Kenny feel special. The secret they share, a piece of his soul, it’s made them better friends – even closer than they were as kids. It only makes the ache harder to bear but, it’s okay, Kenny can’t die.

“C’mon, Ky, we should get you home.” He stretches and bounces up onto his feet, tugging Kyle off the floor, grunting when Kyle refuses to budge. He leans down and, with his years of work stacking heavy boxes at the warehouse downtown behind his back, lifts Kyle with a grip under his armpits, arms heavily coiled around his chest.   

The redhead is a ragdoll in his hold, whining pitifully as nausea that prods at his stomach makes itself obvious through a loud burp. Maybe Kenny should have stopped him from drinking as much. Then again, he’s not the redhead’s babysitter so.  He grips the taller around the waist instead and steers them towards the door.

“Say bye to everyone, Kyle, sweetie.” He nudges the redhead like he’s a parent rather than a partner in crime and the taller careens back mouth open for a shout.

“Bye fuckers!” He shouts and Kenny snorts.

“Send pics!” Wendy shouts back, a hand waving at them frantically.

“You ain’t getting nudes from my babe!” Kenny teases and the rest of the conscious drunkards are set off again, giggling like mad.

“I meant of the sites!” She whines and Kyle waves her away.

“I’ll set up an Instagram account for him, don’t worry.” Kenny assures them and he gets a mixed response of encouragements.

Getting Kyle up the stairs is a little difficult but he manages, already used to hauling around guys taller than him. The party upstairs is still going strong and he shoves his way towards the front door through the throng of sweaty bodies.

“Gotta – gotta find Stan, n’ say bye. Can’t leave without that!” Kyle whines into the side of his face, words slurred.

He sighs, looking around and trying to locate Butters and the dumb jock. He doesn’t spot them in their immediate vicinity  so he pulls out his phone and hopes Butters gets the text in time.

_> where r u_

He waits for a bit, Kyle hanging over his shoulder because he’s unable to stand steadily on his own. He grips the other around the waist a bit more firmly, unabashedly enjoying the closeness because he’s a masochist like that. Kyle manoeuvres around him like he’s walking around the last chair in musical chairs, playing only himself, and when the song changes, he changes directions, walking the other way and stopping behind him abruptly. The redhead drapes his arms around Kenny’s neck, head coming to the left side of his own until they’re pressed cheek to cheek. The taller backhugs him firmly and Kenny stumbles under the weight a little, snorting at how relaxed Kyle is. It’s always a delight seeing him so unbothered and unburdened by earthly problems like he usually is.

_> Front porch_

The text arrives and he grunts, they’ve been three meters away from them the entire time. He starts walking again and Kyle doesn’t ease up on the hug but instead follows him like a shadow until they’re out, step for step like a second skin.  

Stan looks up from the rocking chair where he and Butters are huddled up together, the large chair swaying slightly and creaking under their combined weight. There’s a familiar dopey smile on his face that a slightly-buzzed Kenny can’t recall where he’d seen before.

“Stanny-boy!” Kyle finally unlatches from him and stumbles towards Stan who’d gotten up to meet him half way in a big bro hug.

Butters rounds them and comes to stand next to Kenny, fitting himself into his side like he always did and so very casually at that too. He can hear Stan sniffling and Kyle saying something in a hushed tone that had the dark-haired male weeping harder.

“How’d it go?” He wiggles against the other and Butters sighs dreamily.

“He said he needs to think about it further but I have high hopes.” Butters squeezes him in a hug and he grins down at the shorter blonde. He’s happy for them. But again, he finds himself with that feeling of wistful jealousy inside the pit of despair that is his stomach. Maybe he should just man up.

And maybe he would have, if the whole ‘ _waking up in Kyle’s presence after I die_ ’ thing hadn’t popped up along the way. Speaking of-

“I may be gone for the summer, Leo, think you’ll be okay without me for that long?” He watches as Kyle squeezes Stan’s wide form in another hug before they separate.

“Where ya goin, Ken?” Butters whines, shaking him back and forth by the grip around his midsection. “You gotta stick around for me n’ Stan’s whirlwind summer romance!” The blonde bounces at his side, voice trailing off as he coos sadly.

“Europe.” He grins as Butters’ face levels with understanding.

“Oh,” The shorter blonde grins. “Have fun then, I guess. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” Butters kisses his cheek sweetly ( _god, why couldn’t he have just fallen for Butters, damn it)_ and Kenny pats his back and ruffles his hair. “Be careful out there in the cruel world, Ken.” Butters warns, only half serious.

“Don’t worry, I bounce back quickly.”

He looks over to the two super best friends who are staring at them with equal looks of fondness on their faces. Kenny feels himself blush under the attention and quickly tries to divert the attention by slapping Butters’ ass and sending him on his way back to his soon-to-be boyfriend.

“Get now, don't keep loverboy waiting.” He grins at Stan’s look of utter betrayal.

“Have a safe trip, Kyle.” Butters hugs the redhead briefly and Kyle sways, patting him on the head that is inconspicuously nestled between his pecs. God, Kenny _wishes._

“I’ll try and contact as often as possible. I’ll see you guys when I get back.” The redhead throws them a salute and then plasters himself back to Kenny’s side. On a warm night like this one, it makes him sweat sooner than it usually would – probably because it’s _Kyle._

“Off we go, bye lads.” He says cheerily with a very American accent, pleased to notice that Stan immediately takes Butters under his arm in a somewhat possessive/protective manner. _Good on them_.

He gets Kyle home safely; driving slowly because Kyle complains about motion sickness – that Kenny knows is just regular drunk-guy sickness. He then proceeds to stand in front of Kyle’s closet trying to see what else he could fit into the suitcase while Kyle very-unhelpfully tries to shout at him about stripes and polka dots.

“You don’t even own anything striped, fuckface.” He grumbles after shushing him.

“No! There’s – there’s a shirt bottom of the pile! Orange n’ white stripes, too small for me but you can wear it when you get there.” Kyle keels over from his sitting position and onto the bed and Kenny helps him take off his shirt and jeans, pointedly not looking anywhere he’s not supposed to even though he _wants_.

“What if I don't want to come with you, huh?” He teases but the jokes falls flat when Kyle’s expression sobers up and a frown makes its way onto his stern face.

“What’s wrong with going to Europe with me, Ken? You don’t wanna go with _me?_ Why wouldn’t you wanna go to Europe, Ken?” Kyle whispers out, voice wobbling as the words leave his pouted mouth.

 _God, Kenny, get it together, you’re talking to drunk-Kyle._ He scolds himself mentally and ushers Kyle under the covers, smoothing his hair off his forehead.

“That’s not it, Kyle. I’d love to go to Europe but...” He trails off, “I'm scared. I'm scared of things going wrong and I'm terrified of getting stuck on a different continent. I can’t leave Karen alone like that. I need to stay here for her. You know that, Ky.” He elaborates with a gentle voice, hand still messing with the red curls and not letting Kyle turn onto his back lest he choke on his own puke.

“Once we come back, we should move to Denver, together. Just us, Ken. Karen too, when she’s out of highschool. It’ll be good for her.” Kyle mumbles, nudging his head further under Kenny’s hand like a needy cat.

The words cut through him like a hot knife through butter. God, Kyle had no idea how much he was tearing through him with sharp claws. Kyle had no idea how unhealthy this was for Kenny. And he never will. Not if Kenny can help it.

“Let’s just see if we can make it through the summer without killing each other first, yeah?” He pulls the light covers up and under Kyle’s chin so that the other’s tucked in soundly.

“Okay,” Kyle yawns, jaw popping with the motion. “Either way. You’ll always come back to me, Ken.”

He closes his eyes, gut clenching with unease at how true that sentiment is. Even if they were now locked together in death and life, he’d always come to Kyle because he has no sense of self-preservation. _Not being able to die will do that to a person._

“You know I will.” He mumbles but Kyle’s already out cold.

He stands up and takes out the striped shirt Kyle had been talking about earlier. He puts it in the suitcase, checks if everything’s in there and then closes it up. He checks Kyle’s backpack and notices that the other’s packed two chargers and too many snacks to count. He smiles, making a mental note to get Kyle some aspirin and water in the morning.

He sneaks into his room, into his cold bed that’s way more uncomfortable than Kyle’s floor and tries to catch some Zs before sunrise – tries not to think about what’ll happen next.

He can’t sleep, though. And for the first time in ages, he takes out his old sketchbook and draws the night away. They’re mostly drawings of Kyle, of course. The sketches in his notebook have transitioned from practice sketches and anatomy in the beginning, flowers and animals in the middle to their friends near the end and then his sister, some superheroes he likes, Kyle, Kyle, _Kyle._

And there he was again, drawing Kyle how he’d seen him tonight – that fucking dopey smile on his face that he wishes meant more than it does. Pathetic.

* * *

 

He tugs Kyle out of the bed in the morning and shoves him into the shower. While the redhead freshens up, he opens the suitcase and unzips the compartment inside the upper lining of the suitcase that Kyle hadn’t even noticed. He stuffs his sketchbook, a pencil, a sharpener and an eraser in there just in case he ends up going with Kyle. If not, Kyle will probably get a kick out of seeing his drawings again when he finds it.

He closes the suitcase back up and makes Kyle’s bed while he waits, too antsy to sit still for too long.

Kyle comes out of the shower dressed and ready to go. Kenny helps him out the door but – but downstairs, getting the newspaper is Kyle’s mom, looking at them like they’ve both grown a second head that binds them to each other.

“Um.” Kyle gulps audibly and Kenny shuffles to the side, the redhead’s backpack in hand.

“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” Sheila’s arm twitches and the mug she’s holding spills coffee onto the ground. The sun’s barely up, if she starts shrieking she’ll wake the whole neighbourhood. Kenny winces mentally as Kyle tries to stumble back into him for cover.

“I can't believe you.” He hisses to Kyle lowly because _of course,_ Kyle never got to telling her his plans. _Time to cross that fucking bridge and confront the troll that guards it._

Kyle has the decency to look sheepish, glancing back at Kenny and then at his mom. “Europe?” Kyle tries for _casually quirky and charming_ and Sheila drops the mug, shattering it on the ground and sending coffee everywhere. Kenny sighs and steps out of the line of fire, she doesn’t even notice him taking the suitcase and backpack into the car – too busy staring Kyle down with a frankly terrifying expression.

“What?” Her voice is silent but filled with surprise and rage. This may possibly be worse than the shouting.

“I’ve thought long and hard about this, for years actually. I'm taking a year off before college and I'm spending my summer in Europe. I’ll be travelling through countries and visiting sites. I’ll apply to a college _of my own choice_ next year and I’ll be studying history, not law.” Kyle’s voice only wavers once and Kenny can't help but feel proud of him.

“So, I don't care what you do to me now. I worked my ass off for months and saved for years before that. I'm spending my summer abroad and then working when I come back. You can choose not to finance me when I leave for not-law school or you can support the decision that makes me happy the most. It’s your choice but know that I will be fine no matter what you decide. Goodbye for now, mom, I’ll call sometimes.” He approaches the shell-shocked woman and pecks her on the cheek before joining Kenny hurriedly.

They get into the car and he starts it. They pull out of the driveway and Sheila is still standing there staring at the front door.

“Dude,” Kenny starts lowly, “You fucked that up big time.”

“She’ll deal with it.” Kyle leans against the cool glass of the window with his forehead, grimacing as the car jolts.

“Oh, right.” He reaches behind the driver’s seat and pulls up a bottle of water. He pulls the painkillers out of his hoodie pocket and hands both to Kyle who grins sheepishly.

“What would I do without you, Ken?” Kyle sighs after a hearty gulp of the cold water.

“Die probably.” He grins brightly as Kyle snorts water out of his nose at the joke made in poor taste.

“Dude.”

“Too soon?”

* * *

 

He doesn’t say goodbye to Kyle as much as he wishes him a safe flight and a calm landing. It’s useless; at this point they’ll see each other within the week because of the curse. It’s not certain, of course, but it’s not _uncertain_ either by any means – Kenny’s hindsight allows him that much self-awareness at least.  

He lasts a whole of five days without Kyle there by his side before it gets to be too much and he grows bored of Butters and Stan being lovey-dovey in front of him. He lasts until the graduation ceremony, he picks up his degree at the administration office, picks Kyle’s up too and stashes them in his room. He feels bad leaving Karen behind but she has a whole summer of sleepovers and camping planned with Ike and Tricia. She’ll be fine, she doesn’t need him hanging around. So he decides to say _fuck it_ and purposely steps out into the bad part of town where he gets shot down in a drive-by. Nothing wild but enough to call Death to come and collect him.

Death eyes him with a frown and Kenny taps his foot against the ground, not making any noise.

“Can we hurry this up?” He whines and Death sighs loudly, obviously put out by Kenny’s attitude.

He wakes up in a hotel room in, presumably, Scotland if he’s memorized Kyle’s schedule correctly. Either that or still Ireland, depending on how long it’s been.

He sits up and hears the water running in the bathroom. He hopes Kyle’s alone in there; it would be awkward to explain to anyone else why he was lounging on the one single bed in the room. He sighs and settles back to wait for the other to finish.

 In the meantime he digs out Kyle’s phone from the backpack leaned up against the bed frame. He stares at the pattern unlock and then tilts the phone to the sunlight. He sees the smear on the screen and grins as he follows the pattern, unlocking it easily. He downloads Instagram and sets up that account he’d promised his people and posts the first few photos the redhead had taken of Ireland in two slideshows. He follows some of their friends and Bebe immediately DMs him several hearts and an eggplant emoji.

He sends her back a selfie of him chilling on the bed along with ‘ _u send all ur followers those??’_ and she responds with a scandalized _only one bed?!?1?! :ooo_ that makes him laugh quietly. He responds with several more eggplant emojis, tongue emoji, water droplets emoji. She sends a bunch of various little quirky emojis that he can’t even begin to decipher and a final _get some, fucker._

He deletes the conversation out of the DMs and prays that she doesn’t try to sext Kyle thinking it’s him.

He walks over to the window and sees that the sun is rising. Probably around 5 a.m. then, he wonders why Bebe’s up that early. He posts an Instagram story of the sunrise and tags the location (it _is_ Scotland). He drops Kyle’s phone onto the bed just in time to hear the water turning off.

The door to the bathroom opens and Kenny gets a full frontal view of Kyle with his dick flapping in the wind. He grins even as his heart rate spikes at the lewd sight.

“Dude, quit flashin’ me, I'm a delicate maiden still!” He quips and Kyle positively _screams_. He’s never letting the redhead live that one down. The redhead dives behind the couch and pulls down the pair of sweats that have been thrown over it previously.

“I am going to kill you, McCormick!” Kyle shrieks and Kenny busts a lung laughing to try and distract himself from the thought of Kyle going commando right across the room from him.

“I’ll always come back.” He wheezes at Kyle’s red face that matches his head prettily. “Dude. You always walk around the room nakey like this? That’s kinky, man.”

“Jesus! I wasn’t expecting anyone to be _in here!_ I forgot to bring the sweats with me. Fuck off, Kenny!” Kyle’s voice gets higher the more he tries to elaborate and Kenny just feels so damn fond that he has to stop laughing and instead clutch at his chest.

“God, almost gave me a heart attack.” Kyle swears under his breath and Kenny grins.

“Careful there, Kyle, I don't know how many pieces of my soul I can spare.” He purrs and Kyle thwacks him on the forehead with an open palm. The smack is louder than it hurts but it sends Kenny toppling back onto the bed in a fit of breathy giggles.

“You are _insufferable.”_ The indignation in Kyle’s voice makes him grin sharply.

He poses on the bed like a model and throws his head back, eyelashes fluttering. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

 _And, oops, screwed the pooch now, Ken._ The air thickens as Kyle continues to stare at him, not saying anything but looking as much of an analyzing asshole as he usually is to people who he knows are bullshitting. And Kenny’s _been_ bullshitting for actual _years_ ; he’s surprised it took Kyle this long to see through it. The air dissipates as Kyle shakes his head, resignation making his shoulders droop.

“Up you go, Ken, we’re on a tight schedule.” Kyle throws him one of his hoodies and Kenny is grateful for the reprieve from the weird atmosphere he’d created like the fucking retard that he is.

“You got it, boss.” He tugs the soft garment on and zips it up halfway. “How many day has it been?”

“A week, I got here last night.” Kyle roots around the suitcase for one of his button ups, pulling out a deep green one that makes his eyes stand out.

“Damn, been out for three days then.” He groans at the unreliable period of death. He hates that there’s never a set time of absence; that it’s too erratic to track.

“Yeah, figured when you stopped answering my texts.” Kyle smiles at him and Kenny is still a little unnerved that Kyle _remembers_ now. He doesn’t have to shoulder the burden alone anymore, Kyle will always know. It’s both reassuring and depressing.

“What’s the schedule for today?”  He knows they’re in Inverlochy, a nicer hotel in the small town as Instargam informed him.

“I stopped here just to sleep for the night; today we travel to Fort Augustus.” Kyle packs his bag up anew and motions for Kenny to follow him. “It’s about an hour ride in the bus, so we gotta make it to the station. It leaves at six.”

Kenny whines, “But I'm hungry!” He gets up and helps Kyle by carrying the backpack.

“We’ll stop by a bakery or something, dude, don’t be a bitch.”

The trip is peaceful and the scenery is beautiful. He takes to manning Kyle’s phone and taking artistic shots of the greenery as the sun rises higher into the sky. It’s as gorgeous as everyone’s always said and he can’t help but feel enamoured, fingers itching to paint even though he hasn’t in years.

Fort Augustus is as small as any ol’ American town but it’s so much more than South Park will ever be. There’s history in the soil here, the houses quaint and built before the existence of the States. Time is such a bizarre concept and Kenny realizes that they’ll never have enough of it. It’s a beautiful town on the crown of Loch Ness, basking in its proximity to the tourist trap.

They visit the Fort Augustus Abbey and Kenny marvels at the gothic structure that still stand proud and solemn as people mill around. Kyle talks about the history of it and anybody who doesn’t have a guide stops to listen to him speak. He does the same as they visit what remains of Urquhart Castle and take a little drive to visit the Eilean Donan College.

And when they get there he notices that there’s something bizarre happening. The thing is – the surprisingly lucky thing is that nobody asks Kenny for an admission ticket. Even as Kyle has to provide his own at the point of admission, nobody bats an eye at Kenny. It’s like he’s not even supposed to be there – like he’s _not_ there at all. Like the universe is recognizing its mistake and trying to throw him a bone. He ignores the uneasiness and trails after Kyle like a lost puppy.

The castle is breath-taking, basked in the early-morning light and Kenny almost can’t tear his gaze away from it.

Except, then he spots Kyle. Kyle who’s red hair catches the light too. Whose eyelashes are like fire dancing in the wind as he blinks sleepily. Kenny’s heart stumbles over several beats, he’s scared to blink in case he misses the shifting of faint freckles across the redhead’s cheeks as he yawns.

Then, Kyle turns to him and brightly pulls him in for a selfie. Kenny hopes he doesn’t look as awestruck and dumb as he feels. He smiles to cover up the colossal blunder of staring at Kyle for too long again. Smiles through the pain and grits his teeth, ignoring that fond look the old lady from the ticket stand is sending them like they’re the cutest couple there.

They walk around the castle and Kenny stares at Kyle staring at everything in wonder. It’s inspiring how happy Kyle seems, surrounded by all this history and heritage. Kyle gets introduced to a group of gingers along the way because they think it’s hilarious and that he’s definitely somewhere from around here even if his accent doesn’t fit. Kenny can’t help but smile as Kyle’s shoulders lose their tenseness the more he talks to the locals of Dornie.

They catch a ride back and have lunch in Fort Augustus again, waiting for the ship that cruises along Loch Ness to come pick up the new batch of tourists. Kenny lets himself relax, taking the thrown bone that is seemingly a blessing.

The small-ish boat is packed full of people as they cruise down the lake. It’s serene and beautiful and Kenny snaps as many pictures as he can, capturing Kyle’s grin in some and the scenic view in others. It’s not his fault if Kyle ends up being the centre of most of the photos.

“It’s weird that nobody notices you’re here.” Kyle says quietly from next to him, eyes still on the horizon.

He shrugs, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Fair enough. I mean, they still talk to you but – it’s just weird.”

Kenny knows Kyle’s logical brain is struggling with all of this but he’s doing his best to just accept it. He appreciates him for that, he’s honoured that Kyle can overcome his shortcomings for him.

“Hey, what’s that?” Kyle points to the water a small distance away of them as a murder of crows flies over head.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He grunts and braces for it.

“What – Ken?” Kyle’s voice trembles as a looming shadow breaks surface. People around him screech and Kyle’s jaw drops open.

“You fucking asshole!” He screams at the universe as the giant serpentine head of the Loch Ness monster descends upon him, swallowing him whole.

* * *

 

“God fucking damn it.” He wheezes for breath and jolts to the side and almost out of the chair he was apparently sitting in now.

Kyle drops the fork onto the table, mouth open and staring at him. He watches, mortified, as Kyle’s eyes begin to well up with horrified tears.

“Kenny.” The redhead whispers and Kenny reaches over quickly to grip one of his hands.

“It’s fine. I'm here. We’re okay.” He reassures silently, trying not to draw attention to them since they’re in a restaurant.

A waiter arrives with another plate of some chicken based meal and places it in front of Kenny. “Here you go, sorry for the wait!” The man says in a thick accent and with a brilliant smile.

“Ken, that was...” Kyle huffs out a laugh as a tear makes its way down his cheek.

He groans and leans back into his seat, “God. Of course that would happen. Of-fucking-course.” Kyle lets out a stilted giggle and then slaps a hand over his mouth, embarrassed by his reaction to such a brutal event. Kenny grins, squeezes his hand once and then releases him. “God, I'm starving.”

“Fuckin’ Loch Ness monster, though, Ken.” Kyle shakes his head, finally coming down from realizing Kenny is back in the land of the living again.

“Where are we anyway?” He looks around and sees tall buildings outside, a lot of people in various outfits and plenty of cars.

“Edinburgh.” Kyle continues eating, hands still shaking slightly and Kenny digs into his own plate. “I arrived a couple of hours ago and decided a nap was due. Everyone went ballistic after the Nessie thing and then just – stopped. The tour continued after that but. Guess I’m gonna have to live with the knowledge that that thing exists now.” The redhead frowns down at his pasta and Kenny can relate. He’s learned a long time ago that if there’s something freaky in the place he’s at, it’s gonna get him no matter what.

“What are we doing today?” He digs into his chicken tenders and baked potatoes, stomach protesting at the emptiness that always follows his rebirth.

“Edinburgh castle, that’s gonna take up most of the afternoon. It’s a complex of buildings so.” Kyle pulls out his notebook out of the backpack and flips through it.

“You gonna give us all another history lesson?” He grins as a dusting of red settles on top of Kyle’s cheeks.

“Yes. Because you’re uncultured and you should know something about the monuments you’re visiting.” Kyle scrunches up his nose and squints at the notebook, looking too domestic for his own good.

Kenny tries not to think about how they look like they’re on a lunch date. He tries to, but everyone’s eyeing them with kind eyes and smiles that spell out _ah, young love_ as Token had stated the evening of the party. Kenny hopes they get to get smashed in one of these pubs he keeps hearing about since, y’know, they’re legal in Europe. They should take advantage of that.

They tour the royal palace, see the crown jewels and look around Saint Margaret’s Chapel. They spend two hours in the war museum and Kenny never gets tired of hearing Kyle talk, rant, rave about history and weapons. It’s a little conspicuous but people follow them around, listening to Kyle talk as well. It doesn’t really matter to Kyle, he’s fine with an audience but Kenny sort-of hates the idea that he has to share Kyle in any way. Which is fucking stupid because he doesn’t _own_ Kyle in any way.

Kenny begs him to take a detour and visit the Whiskey Experience just across the street from the castle but Kyle is unmoved by his wide pleading eyes. They visit the busiest street and Kenny buys a few post cards for their friends, splitting the price with Kyle because they have the same friends. He mans Kyle’s phone again and when they catch a good WiFi signal, messages a couple of them to Stan who’s asking for updates. Much to Kyle’s dismay, he buys a kilt, fully prepared to parade around it in the evening when they get to their hotel – knowing he looks good in a skirt, especially a red and pleated one.

He wants to hit up the Harry Potter tour but Kyle insists that they don’t. They get some early dinner and despite his adventurous nature, Kenny doesn’t try Haggis. The idea of it makes him a little queasy even as Kyle digs in. He sticks to some plain ol’ pork with some mashed turnips or whatever it is.

He’s sad he doesn’t get to hear Kyle’s rambling lectures as they get to the Holyrood Palace. The headset provided at the door guides them through the palace at their own pace and Kyle spends a lot of time in each room while Kenny stares at the breathtaking art hung on the walls. They visit the Holyrood gardens behind the church and take a break from all the walking. It’s an experience and by the end of it, they’re exceptionally tired.

In fact, Kyle’s tired enough that Kenny manages to drag him to the gin distillery even though it’s not a part of Kyle’s great and meticulous plan. They start the tasting experience with a classic gin and tonic combo; they don’t want to overdo it after all.

But then, a crowd of bustling college students on a study trip abroad join their table and Kyle is left flustered as Kenny takes the lead in socializing with the new people.

“Where are you guys from?” One of the girls directs their way; he’s already forgotten their names after their initial meeting.

“South Park, America!” He says easily, the gin he’d ingested (third? fourth? shot already) fuelling the fire of his social butterfly persona.

“Oh, damn! That’s cool! I thought you were like from around here or something!” The dude sitting next to her exclaims, knocking back his shot with practiced ease.

“Nah, man, don’t have the accent.” He grins and the girl nods to Kyle.

“Have the ginger, though.” Her smile is cheeky and Kenny snorts at the blatant way they’re both eyeing Kyle who looks more uncomfortable by the moment.

Kenny shoves a shot into his hand and slings an arm around his shoulder, pushing his nose into the flushed cheek. “Sure do!” At this point he might as well have taken his dick out and pissed in front of Kyle to mark his territory with how possessive the move is. But he knows that his posturing will save Kyle the awkwardness of someone trying to hit on him. The redhead’s hand is on his knee then, squeezing gently in the way Kenny knows the other shows appreciation subtly.

“Oh, you guys are so cute!” She squeals, her accent slipping through as they get progressively drunker. She also coos at them in that way that older people sometimes do, but older like – a couple of years, two or three at most. Kenny doesn’t really like it, it feels condescending but he’s not looking to argue tonight so he lets it go. He hopes confrontational-Kyle isn’t on the prowl tonight either, he doesn’t want to clean blood up.

After too much time, too many drinks to count and some food that the students paid for later, he ushers Kyle out of the distillery. It’s dark outside and Kyle’s the only one that knows where their hotel is so Kenny hopes that the ginger bastard is coherent enough to give directions.

It seems like he’s ushering around drunk-Kyle a lot lately but it’s the redhead’s own fault. He’s a lightweight in Kenny’s eyes, can’t handle his liquor at all. He should really stop trying to get him drunk off his ass. Probably, yeah.

“Call a cab, Ken, we can’t walk that far.” Kyle grumbles, burying his nose into the mop of blonde hair on Kenny’s head.

Kenny sighs and tugs out Kyle’s phone, “What’s the address?”

Kyle gives him a withering look and the name of the youth hostel and prays that there’s only one of those in town. He forks out too much cash for the cab and drags Kyle to the front desk to get their room key. The blessed man helps them by pulling Kyle’s suitcase out from holding and puts it into the cramped elevator for them.

Since it is a hostel, the room is already occupied by two other people. There’s only one bed available and it’s fucking tiny. He contemplates sleeping on the floor but Kyle whines when he tries to move away.

He shushes the redhead, “Fine, fine. Jeesh, scoot over.” He nudges Kyle towards the wall and clambers under the light covers. It’s pretty warm already and the other is emitting heat like a fuckin’ radiator so Kenny sticks his leg out and hopes nothing grabs him during the night.

“Glad you’re ‘ere, Ken.” Kyle mumbles and throws an arm over his middle, snuggling Kenny into his frame like he’s a young babe. Kenny’s not used to the feeling of being dwarfed by someone but the width and height of Kyle’s relaxed body envelops him. And Kenny’s not a short guy by any means but goddamn did Kyle shoot out like a fucking weed in high school. He kind of hates him for it but he also sort-of loves this feeling as well.

He falls asleep feeling safe and protected.

* * *

 

They visit a couple of museums the next day; Kenny wanders off to look at art and the detailing of the jewellery and armour leaving Kyle to his nerdy history shit. He stares until his eyes burn and water. He’s still tired and Kyle insisted they get out early and start their day with a walk in one of the parks. Kenny isn’t used to this kind of pace. Sure he got up relatively early for school but fuck, all he did in school was _sit_ and _nap_.

Kyle seems to be doing fine, though. But, of course he’s fine. The guy’s been playing ball for most of his life and Kenny was on the sidelines cheering for as equal amount of time. He was the biggest cheerleader out there and even all that endless jumping didn’t put him on Kyle’s level of stamina. Kenny, personally, can go hard for a short amount of time but Kyle can probably run a marathon at this point. He’s wonderful. Kenny’s always thought he was wonderful. He wonders briefly if Kyle knows about his endless pining and is just choosing to ignore it. That’s a depressing thought.              

He’s staring at the taxidermy sheep in a revolving glass case without really seeing it when someone approaches him.

“Dolly,” The girl with the museum’s employee tag pinned to her shirt says.

“Kenny, nice to meet you.” He shoots out his hand politely and she giggles, covering her mouth as she smiles.

“No, ah. The sheep is Dolly, the first cloned sheep.” She explains and motions to it with her hand. “My name’s Monica.”

“Well, still nice to meet you, Monica.” He’s all charm and smarm as he smiles at her and she blushes under the attention. She’s pretty, her hair inky black but her eyebrows light and eyes blue. She kind-of remind him of Stan which immediately makes him think about kissing Stan and then makes her a little less attractive in his eyes. He’d never do that to Butters. Well, _one time,_ but that was before he knew about Butters’ pining woes. His logic makes absolutely zero sense even to him at this point so he abandons the train of thought.

He looks back at the sheep, “I thought the sheep died, like, soon after cloning?”

“No, actually, that’s a misconception. She lived a full life and died at the age of seven.” Monica informs him proudly and now she reminds him of Kyle, except she’s almost timid about it – Kyle is always much more up in your face about things you’re wrong about.

“That’s really cool. And you just have her here now, huh?” He doesn’t know what she, the girl, wants from him. She probably thought he was stupid because he’d been staring blankly at the damn sheep for fifteen minutes, though. It makes him sheepish (ha) but he doesn’t also particularly care. He’s still wondering about where Kyle is anyway.

“Yup. She’s a monument in her own right. The first cloned mammal, we’re lucky to have her here!” Monica looks at him imploringly. “You seemed a little lost, thought I’d drop by and educate you some. Hope you don’t mind.”

She’s flirty with her batting eyelashes and shimmery lips slathered in lip gloss. Kenny wishes he hadn’t stopped having flings and one-night stands; his life would have been so much easier. But.

“No, of course not.” He shouldn’t be encouraging her. “I lost track of my friend almost an hour ago. Am kinda just waiting for him to find me now. It’s nice to have company.” He grins encouragingly despite his wants of being left alone. It’s nice to know people are still willing to flirt with him even if he looks like a sad hobo wearing someone else’s clothes. It’s different out here in the real world, away from the confines of South Park and their small pool of eligible hot people where everyone knows each other.

“Awh, he ditched you.” She pouts, swaying towards him and he nods, pretends to be sad.

“Left me all alone in this strange and unknown land.” He clutches at his shirt, right above his heart and she giggles again. The sound is melodic and tinkling but nothing compared to Kyle’s full-blown laughter that always leaves him warm and fuzzy on the inside. He should stop comparing her to him. Or – comparing everyone to Kyle in general.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to save you.” She states firmly, a determined look on her face. “I can give you a rundown of the place if you want.”

He’s about to say _fuck_ _it_ and go with her when a hand darts out and pulls him back into a firm chest. He lets out an _oof_ just as a light fixture from above crackles and falls down between them. Monica screams in fright and Kenny turns around to avoid the spray of glass as the light shatters.

“What the fuck?” He grunts and looks up, staring at Kyle who has a firm yet worried look on his face.

“Are you okay?” Kyle asks, patting his hands all over him despite knowing that Kenny cheats death on the _reg_.

“Fucking hell, man! That would have totalled me!” He wheezes, surprisingly elated that he’d evaded demise for now.

“Can’t have you dying yet, we have places to be.” Kyle grins and Kenny snorts, turning around to check on Monica.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks and she shakes her head.

She’s trembling a little and people have gathered around to see what happened. “I – I ‘ave to call the boss, excuse me.” She hurries away and Kenny sighs.

“You done seeing everything?” He asks the redhead and Kyle nods.

“You done chatting up the staff?” The grin he offers is etched with sharpness Kenny doesn’t recognize.

He ignores it and grunts instead. “She was just tellin’ me about Dolly. Since you ditched me and all.”

“I thought you were with me until I looked back and you weren’t. I figured you got struck down by the cosmic forces again, in the shape of a giant axe maybe.” Kyle teases, slightly less upset about the fact that Kenny dies sometimes now. Good, he should get used to it. “Came to find you as soon as I realized, though.”  

“Thankfully, avoided it this time. Thanks, dude.” He pats the redhead on the chest and shoves him gently in the direction of the exit. “What’s next?”

The rest of the day is spent on Dean Village and Calton Hill. The view of the city is pretty nice but he’s come to realize that nothing compares to seeing wonder in Kyle’s eyes. And they’ve only been on the road for barely more than a few days. Pathetic.

The day after that, he sits across from Kyle in McDonalds and posts a couple of new photos on Instagram. Kyle’s munching on fries and staring at his notebook in contemplation. Kenny thinks Kyle’s leading some sort of travel journal but he’s not sure what Kyle’s scribbling about now-a days.

“Hey, you already got over two-thousand followers on Instagram.” He informs the other casually and Kyle puts down the pen to stare at him in bewilderment.

“What? How?” Kyle stretches out his hand and Kenny hands him his phone.

“What can I say? You’re a great life guru and online personality, Mr. Broflovski.” He smirks and steals some of Kyle’s sprite. “Also Bebe shouted your profile out to her followers. There’s new ones incoming every day. According to them, you’re a snack.”

“Jesus, Ken. You took these?” Kyle takes the time to properly go through all the pictures posted, observing each one like he observes and analyzes antiques and artefacts in museums.

Kenny feels nervous suddenly, a coiling spiral of anxiety settling in his belly. He doesn’t want Kyle to ask him to stop. He’s come to enjoy taking photos and posting them online. It’s a form of art and he’s always wanted his art to get noticed.

“Yeah, your camera’s really good. Gets all the details if you have a good angle and subject.” He wrings his hands in his lap, trying not to sound like he’s just submitted his final thesis to a hardass professor everyone’s scared of and his entire future career depends on the assessment.

“They’re amazing, Ken.” Kyle looks up from the phone with a bright smile and Kenny’s breath catches. He wishes he can immortalize that look so he can keep it with him at all times, even in death.

“It’s whatever, dude, just something to pass the time and throw our friends a bone.” He shrugs, pretending it’s not a big deal and that he gets compliments from Kyle all the time. _Act like you’ve done this before._

“There’s no photos of you, though.” Kyle frowns, fiddling with the phone.

He snorts, “I doubt they’d be interested in this worn-out mug.” He points to his own face and the look on Kyle’s grows harsh.

With renewed determination, Kyle pulls up the phone and, in an obvious move that has Kenny freezing with a smile, snaps a photo of him. Kenny wheezes as Kyle smiles down at his phone, obviously satisfied with his work.

“Dude, don’t post that.” He says, tugging at a protruding lock of his hair uneasily.

“The people have the right to know who’s behind the camera.” Kyle states firmly and Kenny sighs, knowing full well he’s not gonna win an argument with the other over this.

“You better disable the DMs then, mister, we about to start getting unsolicited nudes.” He makes a rude hand gesture and Kyle scrunches up his nose in distaste.

“Ew, you deal with that.” The ginger shoves the phone back at him and Kenny snickers as he disables the messages. The influx of followers is still steady and as long as his/their profile is on Bebe’s IG story, they’re probably gonna keep coming.

He reads over some comments about how he’s captured the scenery perfectly and then some about how beautiful Kyle looks in the photos he’s posted. And he knows. _Does he ever_. He avoids looking under the photo of him that Kyle’s just posted but the notifications are coming and he has to mute them to stop the phone from buzzing excessively. He’s not insecure about his looks per se, but he doesn’t like to flaunt himself out there on the internet where he’s just some hot dude with blonde hair. It’s a little hypocritical considering he’s putting Kyle’s photos on the profile as well but – the world needs to see Kyle. Kyle deserves the attention.

It says something about his repressed problems and emotions, sure, but he’d rather not deal with those ever. It’s fine, he assumes his photo will magically disappear as soon as he dies anyway. At least he hopes it will.

Kyle’s staring at him. He can feel it as he refuses to look up and meet his gaze. He doesn’t know why, but it feels like he’s under a microscope when Kyle does it. It’s never bothered him before. Butters and Stan stare all the time too, so does Bebe. But, then again, they’re not trying to psychoanalyze him like Kyle seems to be.

“We’re visiting the galleries today.” Kyle says abruptly and Kenny _knows_ those weren’t part of the plan.

“Didn’t you have something else written down.” He motions to the notebook, straw from the shake he’d ordered in hand and waving.

“Just some boring church. The galleries are a better option.” Kyle closes the notebook and shoves it into the backpack since it’s his turn to carry it around today.

“Dude, you _love_ boring old churches!” He gawks because it can’t be possible that Kyle, _Broflovski Kyle,_ is changing his plans last minute because of _him._

“And you love art. We’ve done what I wanted so far, now we’ll go see some art.” Kyle’s words sound final and Kenny loses the will to argue.

Admittedly, he’s flattered _and_ excited to see some of the artworks in the National Gallery Museum and the Portrait Gallery Museum. He’s stoked he gets to see the paintings in real life. He’s seen many of them online, of course, but to witness them in flesh is always something else.

Kyle finds history in the galleries, too. He speaks of the historic events some of the works exhibit, speaks of the historic figures in them. The Victorian era portraits fascinate him and Kenny feels warm as Kyle takes interest in something he holds dear.

They spend a lot of time in the National Gallery where Kenny lectures _Kyle_ for once. He prattles on about the Italian Renaissance and the types of brushworks, about Joseph William Turner and Titian.

It’s an easy back and forth until they exit the galleries and go get lunch. Kenny does make Kyle take them to the church, though, and the structure is beautiful. He’s not gonna let Kyle sacrifice seeing something he wants to see just because Kenny likes art.

Then they go to the zoo. That turns out to be a mistake because by some freak accident (of course), their pack of lions gets loose and mauls Kenny to death.

Kyle can’t save him from that one but that’s okay because Kenny can’t get death to stick.

* * *

 

He misses the three days Kyle spends in Glasgow and wakes up next to the redhead on the train to London.

“Jesus, Kenny, that was horrifying.” Kyle hugs him close to his wider frame and Kenny snuggles in, taking the offered comfort.

“It never gets any easier, does it?” Kyle asks and Kenny shakes his head.

“You’ll learn to look away. If it’s something particularly gruesome, you have to look away. Promise me, Kyle.” He orders but in a gentle manner that has Kyle sniffling.

“I promise.” The redhead says quietly and Kenny lets himself relax. At least that’s out of the way.

“Still can’t believe this happens so often.” Kyle says in a hushed tone, careful not to disturb the other person that’s sharing the compartment with them.

“Used to be even more frequent.” He admits silently, thinking back to his childhood. “Wasn’t even that quick sometimes. I got a muscle disease once, was in the hospital for a couple of weeks until I died. That was fucking bad. Stan, that fucker, refused to come see me because he was scared of the passage of time and that life has an expiration date or some shit.”

Kyle snorts, “Yeah, that sounds like something he’d do.”

“You were there every day, though.” He admits, unsure if he’s supposed to be sharing this. If it’s too close to his hear and if Kyle will maybe realize how much that meant to him at the time. “It was shitty seeing you so sad over me dying when I’ll just eventually come back. But at least at the time you wouldn’t remember. Fatass tried to make it a fucking scheme of course, but other than that, he was sad in his own way, too.” Kyle squeezes him a little and Kenny smiles.

“Bastard,” Kyle mumbles and Kenny fights the laugh that wants to erupt out of him. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember. I can’t imagine how frustrating it must have been.”

He tries for a shrug and barely manages one, still snugly against Kyle’s side. “I got over it eventually. I used to be mad about it a lot but, what angsty teen isn’t mad about shit?”

“God, don’t remind me.” Kyle groans, probably remembering his rage-filled days of quietly simmering and trying not to blow up at everybody and everything.

“Heh, you were quite the firecracker.” He mumbles, sudden sense of sleepiness overcoming his senses. His stomach is empty again but he ignores it in favour of leaning against Kyle for a nap. “How long ‘til London?”

“Still three more hours.” Kyle checks his phone for the time. “Try and get some shuteye, Ken.”

“Night, Ky.” He mumbles and lets Kyle take his full weight, feeling gentle fingers threading through his hair.

“Night, Ken.”

* * *

 

Overall, London’s not Kenny’s first pick when it comes to cities he’d like to visit. It’s a cool city with a bunch of cool shit in it but he prefers the scenic route more than the urban environment. Nature always made for better photos. The high-rise buildings also obstruct the sun and deny him the view of Kyle in the early morning light. The museums are nice and it takes them a solid two days to see everything they have to offer.

On the third day, Kyle does drag him to the gallery at Trafalgar square and Kenny is immensely grateful despite the change of plans that he’s inflicting upon the redhead.

He gets to see his very first Van Gogh in person. He spends an embarrassing amount of time staring at the painting of half-dried sunflowers and a chair. While Kyle rather enjoys the historic paintings more, Kenny always welcomes the scenes of painted nature and the ornery still life. The artworks they pass vary from an array of famous painters Kenny’s only read about in tattered books and online. From Cezanne to da Vinci; from Monet to Rembrandt and Renoir. He’s like a kid on Christmas morning except Christmas was never like this at his house, never made him this happy. And he’s sharing it all with Kyle.

“I never thought art meant this much to you.” Kyle hushes as they stare at a Jan van Goyen painting, _An Estuary with Fishing Boats and Two Frigates_ the title reads _._

“I knew you liked it but – dude, you’re like, out of breath looking at these.” Kyle grins at him brightly and Kenny gets all shy like a damn school girl that just got noticed by her crush. He never really talked about art with anyone. Nobody in South Park, aside from maybe Butters and Token, appreciated art like he did. Hickville, USA, thought it was pointless and easy, a waste of time. They didn’t get how much effort went into actually painting something. _Why waste the time you could be out there earnin’ money like a real man, not this faggy shit!_ His father had once said. That was the day he’d given up on his childish dream of becoming an artist.  

“It’s whatever, dude. I never talked about it.” He shrugs aimlessly and moves on to the next painting.

“Yeah but, you know, I feel bad. Like, I’m one of your best friends, man, I should know this shit.” Kyle pouts at him and Kenny laughs lightly.

“Dude, it’s fine.” He pushes the other with his shoulder. He’s used to being in the background. He doesn’t expect anyone to know about his interests, especially if it’s art. “As I said, I never talked about it.”

“Have you been drawing?” Kyle asks, seemingly genuinely interested in this and Kenny turns away, pretending to look at the next painting. How does he tell Kyle that he’s only been drawing _him_ for the past week and a half?

“Just a little here and there. Don’t really have time for all that anymore.” He takes a seat in front of a big painting and Kyle joins him before anyone else can sit down.

“I found the sketchbook in the suitcase,” Kyle admits quietly and Kenny fights the urge to flinch. “I didn’t go through it because, y’know, _privacy_. But, if you’d like to show me sometimes, I’d be happy.” The redhead leans into him a little and Kenny weeps internally. 

God, why was Kyle just the most precious asshole ever to exist? He has a mental freak-out for about ten seconds before collecting himself and nodding. “One of these days, if I’m feeling generous.” He grins as Kyle rolls his eyes.

“Come on, we should get some food.”

It’s stupid hot that night. It’s swampy and there’s the occasional shower outside every now and then that keeps the ground damp enough to send vapour into the air. It’s too damn hot for people used to the Colorado summers that never got above bearable. But Kyle still plasters himself to his side in the double bed.

They have enough room to sleep soundly, each on their own side of the bed but Kyle is a damn Koala in his sleep. Kenny’s learned to ignore it by now but South Park’s never been this _warm_ and Kyle still _radiates_ heat.

He tries kicking Kyle in the shin but the other just throws his leg over both of Kenny’s to still them and Kenny takes an audible gulp. If Kyle’s knee nudges upwards just a few more centimetres, it’ll be on top of Kenny’s half-chub. It’s not his fault. Kyle decided it would be a brilliant idea to sleep without a shirt on and Kenny is only human. And now he has a half-naked Kyle pressed into his side, clinging to him like Kenny might die in his sleep. Which – not too far-fetched but still.

He tries to tug out of the hold again and manages to get onto his side, out from under Kyle’s leg and onto one of his own elbows when Kyle’s arm darts out and the redhead _manhandles_ him back into his chest. He freezes as Kyle efficiently makes a little spoon out of him.

“Fuck,” He whispers out harshly as Kyle buries his nose into the back of his head, hugging him closer to his chest. “Kyle, dude, lemme go.”

 _Alright, McCormick, get it together._ He tries to coach himself mentally but it all flies out the window when Kyle nudges his dick against Kenny’s ass. It’s the last straw and he bolts out of the firm hold.

“Nnn, Ken.”  Kyle whines and tries to grab him again, managing to snatch his wrist with his spindly fingers.

“Hey, no, shh. I’m going to the balcony for a smoke, I’ll be right here Kyle.” He twists around to run his hand through Kyle’s curls in a soothing motion.

“Mm, don’t die.” Kyle squeezes his fingers around the bird bones of his wrist.

“I’ll try not to.” He reassures and Kyle drops his arm again, snuggling into the pillow that Kenny had vacated.

“Bastard,” He whispers quietly into the night, fond but also hurting so much. He rifles through the pockets of the backpack until he finds the unopened pack of cigarettes that Kyle had stuffed in there before leaving South Park. He slips out of the tiny hotel room and onto the even tinier balcony. The view is of the opposite building but he doesn’t mind. He can see the stars and the moon just fine and that’s all that he needs.

His hands are a little shaky as he brings the butt of the cigarette to his mouth and inhales, lets the smoke swirl around him. God damn Kyle and his clingy ways. It wasn’t fair. But then again, it’s not like Kenny ever _said_ anything. Maybe if he got it out in the open, let Kyle gently shoot him down, he could get some distance. But it’s stupid to think that distance could put a stop to whatever Kenny is feeling. It’s never worked before. Not the weeks of summer where Kyle went to camp with Stan, not the days spent out of state doing odd jobs during winter and spring break. No distance or amount of time spent away from Kyle can murder the festering feelings inside him.

But it’s not all bad. He’s not suffering _all_ the time. Kyle makes him happy. This trip is _good_. Despite how often he aches, he feels the joy of being with Kyle, being the centre of Kyle’s attention for a while. He likes spending time with Kyle. Despite often being a grump, Kyle is fun to be around. He’s an endless well of knowledge that Kenny soaks up like a damn sponge. They share the quiet moments as well. Kenny doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence when he’s with Kyle and it goes both ways. Kyle knows that he can just chill with him and not fulfil any expectations. And that’s just it. Kenny doesn’t expect anything of Kyle. He’s never wanted anything but friendship in return. Aside from Stan, Kenny is the only other person that makes Kyle relax enough to actually not give a shit about anything for a while. He always feels special when Kyle trusts him enough to just be quiet in his presence. It’s weird; in his mind, Kyle is always the shining point. He has no idea what he’s like in Kyle’s head.

He knows they’re friends, that Kyle holds him dear and close but – but that’s it. He can only judge by Kyle’s actions, maybe try and _predict_ what Kyle feels but. But that feels like a trap he’s setting up for himself. He does like the way Kyle smiles when he walks into a room to find Kenny there, though. So maybe he’s got a little bit of hope still left. He probably shouldn’t, but – no self-preservation and all that.

He stubs the cigarette out on the railing and turns around to observe Kyle as he sleeps. The redhead’s chest rises and falls peacefully. He wonders if Kyle’s ever gotten heart palpitations and gone stupid in the head over someone. He’d like to think that Kyle would tell him if someone did make his heart go _doki-doki_ but, Kyle’s never been the type to talk about relationships. It’s always been Kenny teasing, mocking and _needling_ for either information or gossip.

Kyle’s eyes blink open lazily as if he’s feeling Kenny’s stare. They look at each other in the hazy moonlight at 4 a.m. Kyle’s eyes track his silhouette and Kenny watches the green sparkle, glazed with sleep.

“You look like you have a halo.” Kyle whispers, voice rough from disuse.

“I’m no angel, baby.” He lights up another cigarette and throws his head back, letting the light breeze wash over him gently.

“You’re the closest thing to one we got.” There’s a sound of a shutter and Kenny looks to see Kyle sitting on the bed, phone in hand and caught in his act of taking a photo of Kenny. It’s only fair; Kenny’s already taken a lot of photos of Kyle so it should be quid pro quo. Kyle looks down at the photo he’d taken and nods to himself. Kenny wonders what it looks like. What his slim frame leaning against the railing looks like in Kyle’s eyes. He imagines that the photo is pretty dark, not very good, but somehow intimate still.

“You coming back to bed?” Kyle rubs at his eyes, checking the time on his phone again.

 _Are you coming back to bed,_ the words implying much more than Kyle will ever mean. _Way to make us sound married, Kyle._ He scoffs mentally. He’s happy, though, they’re having fun. The vacation was much needed. He flicks what’s left of his cigarette over the balcony and saunters back inside.

Kyle flops down and rolls away from his side of the bed and Kenny slides under the flimsy sheet again. He stays awake for a bit more before falling asleep to the sound of Kyle’s even breathing.

They visit Oxford and Stratford upon Avon the following two days and Kenny doesn’t die. He’s there to see Kyle stand in the spots where famous writers and poets stood, to see Kyle enjoy the history and he’s immensely grateful for that opportunity. Oxford is a beautiful town, possibly a favourite of his so far and Kyle raves on about all the books he’d buy if he didn’t have a strict budget.

They catch a play on Broadway one evening and take a spin in the London Eye. Kenny absolutely loves the Tower Bridge and the ride they take on the dreary Thames. The docks and houses that are barely above water-level transport him back into the Victorian era where he’d probably be married with three children at his age. It’s depressing in a way that makes you glad you’re living in the era you were born in.

They still share the bed and Kyle still clings to him through the night. 

* * *

 

They’re supposed to be crossing the border in an hour. By the laws that have followed them until now, Kenny shouldn’t have any trouble crossing it because nobody seems to notice he’s there. But the customs officer sends him back on his way when he tries to pass without a passport or an ID.

“What are you gonna do?” Kyle asks, anxious to get onto the ferry out of Dover and into Calais, France.

“What I’ve been doing for years.” He scuffs his sneaker against the gravel of the ground. He looks up and pokes Kyle’s nose. “I’ll see you in Paris, Kyle.”

“Ken.” Kyle tries to hold onto him but Kenny smacks his hand away.

“Try not to look back, Kyle.” He winks and turns to walk away, trying to find some way to get killed out here in the wilds of England.

He climbs the white cliffs of Dover, looking at the ferry as it boats away in the early morning. He lets the sprinkling rain to hit his face. It smells and tastes faintly like salt, it’s refreshing and invigorating. Someone shouts in distress as he jumps down into the clear but ruffled water, crashing around jagged rocks.

* * *

 

He comes to in front of a church. The white structure ominous and looming in the middle of a rainy day. It’s drizzling as it had been in Dover; he shudders as he remembers crashing into the water.

“Montmartre is very underwhelming.” Kyle says. “The Basilica of the Sacred Heart is pretty cool, though.” The redhead turns to look at him with sad eyes. “Less than 24 hours.”

“Neat.” He smiles, trying to convey with it that him dying isn’t a big deal.

“What did you do?” Kyle asks quietly, observing the tourists carrying umbrellas and milling around.

“I told you not to look back, Ky. You don’t need to know the details.” He hums, trying to ease the tension that’s lining Kyle’s shoulders. He doesn’t want the other to mourn him every time he dies. He dies way too often for that. He wants Kyle to look forward to him resurrecting instead.

“I’m upset that you have to do _that_.” Kyle looked down at the phone that was clutched in his hand.

“It was a quick death, painless.” He lies through his teeth. Drowning was always the worst. Drowning with head-trauma was slightly better because he’d been on his way to passing out but it was still pretty bad.

Kyle doesn’t believe him but pretends to anyway. “Okay.”

“Paris is a lot less love-y than I was expecting.” He switches topics like a fucking master of the dark arts (not tactfully at all) and Kyle chuckles.

“It’s pretty dirty. And kinda sad.” Kyle nods over behind them and Kenny turns to look at the view of the city, Eiffel Tower and all.

“Wanna go to Disneyland?” He asks and Kyle nods.

The weather clears up by 9 a.m. and they head towards Disneyland that’s bigger than he thought it would be. They get confused at the entrances and have to ask for directions. Nobody wants to speak English with them and the French pretend they don’t know what they’re asking for when they ask for directions. They’re pretty rude overall but once they get into the theme park it’s all good.

They have fun. They let their minds wander and they have _fun_. Kenny is tempting fate by going on Space Mountain for the sixth time but he loves the rush of a freefall without the death afterwards. They have _fun_ and they enjoy the parade and the evening fireworks show. He can definitely see why people say this is the happiest place on earth. They eat in one of the themed restaurants and Kenny smears marinara sauce over Kyle’s nose then proceeds to run away as Kyle tries to dunk a slushie down his shirt.

They come back to their hotel, exhausted and giddy with leftover adrenaline. He doesn’t think he’s ever been happier than here, right now, lying on the floor of their room with Kyle giggling madly next to him. He doesn’t want it to end and he has to keep Kyle going to prolong the atmosphere, to keep it lingering.

“Stay put.” He jumps up to rifle through the suitcase until he finds the bag from Scotland.

“What are you doing, dickface?” Kyle calls out, residue giggles still clinging to his speech.

He pulls out the kilt and drops his pants; the redhead behind him lets out an indignant squawk at the sight of his bent ass. He shimmies his hips and pulls the kilt up his lean legs. “You’re gonna love this.” He announces, high on dopamine and Kyle’s breathy laughs. He pulls his curls back and up into a tiny messy bun and turns around to face Kyle, posture loosening into a sultry walk and voice pitching high enough to pass as feminine.  

“And then this _bitch,_ ” He’s been told he makes a pretty girl and he utilizes it as often as he can. “This _absolute fucking trashbag_ tells me _my_ hair is a poor attempt at bringing back the eighties when I was in my prime!”

“Ken, no!” Kyle looks like he’s barely holding his shit together, cheeks puffed out and holding back laughter. Kyle had been there for the monologue Kenny is trying to imitate. The glorious night when Bebe Stevens kicked Clyde Donovan’s ass so hard he had to get stitches. The night when Kenny got so fucking wasted he died from alcohol poisoning.

The redhead sits up and pushes his chest out, pretending to be larger than he already is. “I don’t know, Bebe, you _do_ look like an Aerosmith reject.” Kyle does Clyde’s voice almost perfectly and Kenny lets out an outraged wail. Never had he expected Kyle to indulge him like this, let alone play along.

“I'm gonna kill you Clyde Donovan!” He launches himself at Kyle and Kyle easily intercepts him. They wrestle around for a bit and they end up on the floor again, Kenny under Kyle’s tight grip. “Not fair, I'm supposed to kick your ass.” He protests, pretends to be oblivious to the way Kyle is pressing down onto him.

“Yes, well. Maybe if Clyde wasn’t such a fuckin’ pussy, he wouldn’t have gotten his ass beat.” Kyle grins sharply.

“Unlike you, Clyde wouldn’t hit a lady.” He pouts, still trying hard to ignore the position they’re in.

“Putting it in a skirt doesn’t make it a lady, princess.” Kyle makes a jab for their childhood shenanigans and Kenny howls, remembering the dress he still has in the back of his closet.

“Get off I have another one.” He pushes Kyle and the taller rolls off him, sitting prim and proper, ready for Kenny’s next performance.

He lets his hair down again and shakes it out, it’s gotten long over the past few weeks since he forgot to cut it and it’s just long enough to flail about in blond waves. “This one goes out all of my _solo_ bitches! Except for Heidi, you, honey, fucked Cartman you’re no longer a part of the female population!” He yells in an exaggerated manner like Bebe did on the night of their Junior Prom. That was a good fucking night. Kenny had the most wonderful time and that’s mostly due to the fact that he’d managed to coax a drunk-Kyle into a romantic slow dance much to everyone’s amusement. He still had that tape stored somewhere on his pc.

“Wooo!” He screeches and someone bangs on the wall opposite of where Kenny is and they laugh, trying to keep it a little quiet. Kyle pitches back, laughing as he jumps up onto one of the chairs at the small table in the corner of the room. “Gimmie some music, what was the song they played?”

“Wait, I got it.” Kyle turns up the volume on his phone and Britney Spears’ _Gimmie More_ plays through the speaker.

“Oh, hell yeah!” Kenny sways to the music, drops when necessary like he remembers Bebe doing that night. When the chorus passes he points to Kyle who’s looking a little wide-eyed and still holding the phone pointed at him – probably videoing him fir future blackmail.

“I'm about to spill all the fuckin’ tea, I'm drunk and I don't give a flying fuck!” She’d shouted as he does now, that was the night she broke up with Kevin Stoley after four months of dating because he tried to get her to do _Star Trek roleplay_. “Kevin Stoley’s dick is small and he can’t fuck _for shit_!” He shouts in a perfect imitation of her. “Tracy Madison likes furries and drinks Bud Light! Wendy, president of the student body and chess captain doesn’t have a gag reflex, way to go girl! Heidi Turner sold her vag for a new iPhone! Craig Tucker – you sell really good weed, man!” He jumps up onto the table, miming taking a swig from a Vodka bottle she’d been nursing that night.

 “Betty Raley, you were my first girl crush, you have a great pair of knockers with a K! Eric Cartman you’re a piece of dog shit and nobody fucking likes you! Stan Marsh, you’ve got a great ass and I enjoy staring at it a lot! Carol Peterson likes to get fucked in public places, I saw her giving head to some dude behind Starbucks! Lilly Tanner sold her nudes online but do what you gotta do girl!” He prattles on in the same tone, exaggerating syllables and noises she’d made as she did the speech that was as theatrical as Tweek was in his drama club days.

Kyle is in stitches by this point and Kenny doesn’t mind that he’s being so loud and disturbing their neighbours. He’s got his Bebe impression down to an art form and he loves her, he does, but she’s done crazy shit when drunk and he’s been there for each one.

“All of you fuckers are the worst people in the world! Not you Kenny, sweetie, you’ve got a big dick and I love you a lot!” He croons and Kyle finally drops the phone in his hysteria as Kenny almost tips the table over. “Token you’re okay, too, you better go home with me tonight, though!” He purrs and there’s more banging on the wall.

He drops to sit onto the table, legs spread and leaning onto one of his knees with an elbow. He watches, pleased, as Kyle comes back to himself with tears in his eyes. No shitty beer buzz will ever compare to the one he gets from making Kyle smile.

“Man,” Kyle wheezes, “That shit was straight out of _Mean Girls_ and everyone still loves her despite it _.”_

“She’s always been a little mean, we’re used to it.” He hums and sees Kyle go for the phone again. “Don’t send her that, she’ll have my balls, dude.” He whines as a grin spreads across Kyle’s face.

“You’ll be fine.” Kyle reassures him and he leans back on his palms, watching Kyle send the video to Bebe presumably. “You two are real tight, she’d never harm you.”

“She might release my deepest, darkest secrets to the world.” He points out and they both know she’d never do that to Ken but she does know some shit.

“I thought you were an open book, McCormick.” Kyle grins at him teasingly and he snorts.

“Well, can _you_ read me, Broflovski?” He leans forward further, challenging Kyle to try. This is dangerous. He knows he’s playing with fire; Kyle Broflovski is still a firecracker.

“Not _that_ literate, Ken.” Kyle yawns, his jaw pops like it often does. “Come on, out the skirt and into bed. We have shit to see tomorrow.”

“Why, Broflovski, if you want me undressed, you gotta do it yourself.” He purrs cheekily and Kyle rolls his eyes. Then, much to his surprise and horror, Kyle picks him up off the table and drops him onto the bed in a few swift strides.

“Bed time, Ken.” The redhead ruffles his hair and goes to the bathroom to wash his teeth leaving Kenny stumped and bothered.

Kenny sits on the creaky bed wondering what the fuck his wrong with him. His heart’s beating super fast and he’s a little turned on. Maybe he can just spring it up on Kyle. Drop a casual _I love you_ and then kill himself to avoid talking about it further. But it’s no use. That won’t work anymore. Because he’ll always end up waking up next to Kyle. Because Kyle remembers. Because Kyle will always be there. He doesn’t know what that means for their future. He doesn’t want to think about him dying and then waking up in Kyle’s bed while his wife sleeps on the other side of it and his kids are in the room down the hall.

“You sleeping in that?” Kyle comes back out and Kenny snaps out of his ponderings.

“I just might.” He smiles, suddenly tired with a bone-deep ache in his gut.

“Well, if that’s what you want.” Kyle shrugs and lies down on his side.

Kenny shakes his head and unbuckles the kilt. He decides that it’s too swampy in the room to sleep in the flannel pyjama bottoms and just sleep in his boxers and the tee that belongs to Kyle like many of the other ones he wears so often these days.

“I had fun today,” Kyle says quietly and Kenny turns off the lights in the room.

“You had fun on our date, huh?” He jokes and Kyle snorts.

“I'm serious Ken, I'm happy you talked me into going. It was definitely worth missing out on crowded buildings and stuffy museums.” Kyle elaborates further and Kenny feels the words pulse through him.

“I'm always happy to badger you into a good time.” He lies down onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

“I'm always happy to indulge.” Kyle admits and they lapse into a silence.

He thinks that Kyle might have gone to sleep but his breathing is a little irregular still. He doesn’t startle when Kyle wishes him a quiet good night. He just hums and says _night_ back.

He doesn’t think about tomorrow. Tomorrow is a concept far away for now. Tomorrow they’ll go around the city and they’ll go visit the Louvre, he’ll see more famous paintings that he can count and Kyle will get to see the Arc de Triomphe, the Notre-Dame Cathedral and the d’Orsay museum. Tomorrow they’ll get back to their usually scheduled scenic tourism but for now, he enjoys the day they’ve had some more. 

* * *

 

It’s time to cross country borders again, meaning: Kenny has to die. He doesn’t have anything creative in mind but he knows that Kyle can’t be there because of obvious reasons.

They fight about it. Of course they do. Kyle is so goddamn headstrong that Kenny doesn’t know if he’s ever beaten him verbally in an argument before.

“I don't want you to see it, Kyle. Just because you know I come back, doesn’t mean it makes it any easier to see.” He huffs out angrily, standing at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower and peering up at the structure.

“Ken, I can’t just let you go through this alone! I want to be there for you!” Kyle hisses back, equal parts concerned and angry.

“Kyle. It’s not _good_ for you to see it. I don’t – it’s nothing special to go through alone. It’s not like I haven’t done this before.” He tries to explain, tries hard to make Kyle see that he doesn’t _want_ Kyle to watch him die. “Look, I'm glad I saved you, but you were never supposed to know about this. It was my secret and I don’t like you being subjected to this shitfest.”

“Ken, stop being stubborn. You know I'm not letting this go.” Kyle stomps his foot onto the dirty floor and Kenny throws his hands up. And then _he’s_ stubborn.

“Fine, be that way. I'm jumping off the top of the tower.” He marches away and to the elevator that goes up to the top.

“Ken!” Kyle runs after him, distress clear in his voice.

“What? You wanna sneak me across the border in your suitcase? Is that it? Wanna get caught by police? Get real, Kyle. You know this is the only way.” He growls out and pushes his way into the elevator. He watches as Kyle cuts in line to buy a ticket. There are too many people around, it’s making him unreasonably claustrophobic.

“There’s a safety fence around the top, Ken, what the hell are you going to do?” Kyle hisses in his ear, suddenly way too closes in the crowded space.

“Climb that, too.” He says decisively.

“This is very illegal.” Kyle tries again and Kenny doesn’t know what he’s set out to do. The redhead knows this is the only way that they can get him out of the country so why is he still trying to talk Kenny out of it.

“You’re telling _me_ that? Do you _know_ what I’ve seen back home? What we’ve been accomplices to?” He scoffs, thinking about all the shit they pulled as kids and how they always managed to get away with it.

“Fair.” Kyle concedes and they climb the rest of the tower in silence.

Somehow, they manage to get onto the part of the tower reserved for service workers and maintenance men. Kenny jumps the flimsy fence there and jumps down onto the curved safety fence next. People start to notice and soon a crowd gathers to gasp and scream at him.

He looks back at Kyle with a stern face. “You wanted to see this, Kyle. Remember that.”

Kyle nods and goes back down to the part where the tourists are supposed to be, standing below Kenny. Someone is shouting something in French as Kenny approaches the end of the safety fence that’s denting under his weight.

“I’ll see you in Germany, Ken.” Kyle says reluctantly.

He nods and closes his eyes, takes a deep breath as he leaps forward _Assassin’s Creed_ style.

And maybe it’s the fight. Maybe it’s his reluctance to face Kyle again after a stupid fight like that. Maybe it’s all the procrastinating he does while trying to talk Death into a game of chess when he splatters all over the Parisian ground but he wakes up twelve days later with Kyle sitting alone on the floor of a hotel room and drinking whiskey from the bottle in Vienna.

“Ky.” He gasps out and Kyle drops the bottle onto the ground, immediately latching himself to Kenny with choked sobs.

“I kept thinking you weren’t gonna show. I – I thought you died and the last thing we did was f-fight. That the last thing you’d remember of me was the stupid fight, I'm sorry. You were right. I didn’t need to see it. I'm sorry I can’t be there for you like that. I thought I watched you die for real this time.” Kyle rambles through tears that are pouring out of him uninhibited. He doesn’t know how the redhead fared in his absence, he’s not allowed to watch Satan’s _Earth-TV_ after he used it to spy on Chris Hemsworth in the shower that one time so he had no way of knowing as he idled in Hell. He fights back his own tears as Kyle sobs openly into his shirt.

“I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm sorry it took so long.” He whispers harshly, burying his face into Kyle’s red curls.

“Twelve days, Ken. Y-you missed all of Germany. It was so shitty without you I couldn’t even appreciate it. I took pictures but they’re not the s-same. You would have loved the castles.” Kyle rants quietly, voice getting cut off by soft cries every so often.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry but there’s always a risk like that when I die. I'm not gonna be with you every day. I'm sorry that’s shitty and I wish I had a proper passport so I could just travel with you like a normal fucking person.” He admits, stroking Kyle’s back and trying to comfort him.

God, he wishes this was actually a legitimate trip they decided to take because they were such good friend and not something that was forced upon them by the universe. He often wishes things weren’t what they are now but that’s all in vain.

Kyle’s cries get softer and Kenny helps him up on the bed. The redhead tries to cling to him but Kenny peels himself away before he topples down and gives in.

“I gotta call Karen, I’ll be right back, Ky.” He reassures him and Kyle grumbles.

“You better fuckin’ be.” The taller pulls the covers over himself and burrows into the pillows. Kenny watches fondly before picking up his shitty phone and dialling Karen’s number.

It rings a few times before she picks up with a chirpy little _Heya, Ken!_

“His, Kar-Bear. How ya doin’ without me? Ready to beg for me to come home?” He feels relief at hearing her voice again even though it’s only been a few days since he called last.

 _“I'm having a blast, I don't know what you’re talkin’ about, Ken.”_ She snorts and he hears noises in the background, she’s probably over at the Tucker residence again.

“Aw, really? I'm getting sick of Kyle, thought if you asked I’d have a reason to come home.” He pretends to be sad about it, putting as much emphasis on his words as possible.

She lets out an obnoxious laugh. “ _You? Getting sick of_ Kyle? _I thought it’d be the other way around. Noah fence, Ken, but you’re clingy.”_

He blushes deeply at her words, trying to mentally go over their interactions in front of her. “Am not.” He states petulantly.

“ _Really? Do I need to start listing all the way in which you_ are, _in fact, clingy_? _Fax only, Ken._ ” Her words are sharp but good-natured; she likes to make fun of him because she knows he’ll never do anything to retaliate. She’s grown up to be a little shit, frankly.

“You’re a menace.” He concludes. “Seriously, though. Things okay over there?”

She sighs, moving around and saying something incomprehensible to Tricia. “ _It’s fine, Ken, I'm barely home anyway. Don’t worry about me, have fun while you can. I like the photos you’ve posted, they’re really good.”_

“You follow Kyle on Instagram, huh?” He scuffs his shoe against the tiles of the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror.

 _“’Course I do. Bebe recommended his account and he added credits to the photos so we know you took them.”_ She elaborates and Kenny’s stomach does a little flip. Kyle probably did it so that the people would know that the good owns were by him. Kyle has a shaky hand when he’s taking photos and it shows; he never edits them either. It’s oddly very considerate of him.

“That’s nice of him.” He says, not sure what to add to that.

Karen hums in agreement. “ _You guys be careful. I gotta go, we paused a movie because you called but Ike’s getting impatient and Tricia’s about to beat him up. Love ya’, Ken. Say hi to Kyle.”_  

“Love you, too, Kar-Bear. Say hi to the kids for me.”

 _“Will do, byes!”_ She hangs up and he stares at the phone a little before slamming it onto the sink counter and leaving the bathroom.

He crawls into bed and Kyle, despite seemingly being asleep, pulls him into his chest again. He shouldn’t allow this to happen but Kyle needs the reassurance that he’s here. So he lets himself be cradled again and enjoys the safety that Kyle provides so willingly.

* * *

 

Kyle is mostly on top of him when he wakes up. He suffers silently until the redhead rolls over and he can finally breathe. Death by suffocation by Kyle was as ironic as it would get.

It’s been a month for Kyle, he realizes slowly. It’s been a month since Kyle left home on his own to tour Europe like the brave kid that he is. He sits up and stretches, does some mental math to see how many of those days Kenny was there with him. Regret hits him when he thinks about the fact that he left Kyle alone for 12 – Germany shouldn’t have taken him that long to see, he’s sure it’s not on the schedule for that long either. He’d been with Kyle for approximately half of those days.

He’ll probably try and plead with Death for a quicker return next time.

“Germany fucking sucked without you.” Kyle groans out while rubbing his hands over his face. Kenny can imagine the hangover the other is experiencing right now. He eyes the bottle that’s still on the floor, thankfully empty enough not to have leaked out all over the carpet during the night.

“I'm sorry, Ky. I don't know what happened.” He hands Kyle a bottle of water and the redhead chugs it with a sigh.

“You can go through the photos if you want.” Kyle throws his phone further down the bed and Kenny grabs it. Then, the redhead tries to sit up and promptly falls back down with a pained whine.

“Why’d you drink, dude? You know you’re shit at handling alcohol.” He snorts and Kyle flips him off.

“It’s been twelve days, Ken, I thought I let you jump and then just left your body in France to the stray dogs. I thought I left you there, your body, no funeral no nothing, I-” Kyle’s voice cracks like he’s 12 again and arguing with Cartman over the implications of trying to crossbreed cats and dogs.

“I’d never blame you if you did, Kyle. There’s no way of knowing.” He tries to find the words to reassure the other but he’s never been good with those. He’s too cynical and harsh, not soft spoken and emotional like Stan or compassionate like Butters. He can’t make the situation into something it’s not. He knows only the truth and right now, Kyle needs reassurance.

“I hate that I'm such a pussy.” Kyle puts his head into his hands. “I thought about going back to Paris, looking for you. Thought maybe you didn’t die and – I don't know, fell into a coma or something but I.” Kenny can hear the shaky gasp that the redhead takes as loud as if it were his own. Teary eyes look at him and Kenny’s heart breaks a little. “I'm sorry I didn’t, Ken.”

“No, Kyle. Hey. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you have to go through this. Don’t – never come looking for me, okay? Because if you find me, and I'm not dead...” He chokes on the last words. He doesn’t want to tell Kyle what would happen. What Kyle would be forced to do. He doesn’t want to burden him like this. Kyle seems to realize it, though. The redhead’s face hardens momentarily before he looks away.

“I'm glad I saved you, Kyle. I just wish you didn’t have to remember like this.” He sits down next to Kyle and bumps their shoulders together.

“No. I.” Kyle scrubs at his eyes again, knuckles white from clenching. “I’ll get used to it. I’ll get better at dealing with it, at trusting you about things like this.”

“You’re a good guy, Kyle, I'm sorry this is happening to you.” He gins and Kyle snorts.

“To _me?_ Ken, you’ve been dealing with this for the last 19 years.” The redhead leans into his side and Kenny has to strain to hold his weight.

“Don’t drink yourself stupid over my lousy ass, Broflovski. Liver cirrhosis isn’t worth it.” He throws his arm over the broad shoulders. “Promise?”

“Yeah, yeah. I promise.” Kyle’s head leans against his shoulder and they sit like that, watching the sun get higher up on the horizon, enjoying the reassurance that the body warmth provides.

Kenny’s never been good with words but he could do actions. He could make sure Kyle knew he was there, alive and well for now. He can do that.

* * *

 

The palace of Schonbrunn is something to behold. The painted ceilings, the beautiful furniture, the portraits, everything just screams _lavish._ Kenny feels humbled in the presence of all the gold and all the silver, the jewels and the expensive fabrics. He’s dirt poor, sure, but this is beyond belief, off the charts crazy. He can’t even come up with anything witty when Kyle ushers him into the foyer where they leave the backpack and only take their phones with them. He knows that they can’t take any photos inside the palace and it’s such a damn shame. They respect the law, though, but he still sneaks a photo of one of the rooms – just for him to keep. They don’t visit all of the 1,441 rooms, of course, but they take a walk through a great number of them.

“The name means _beautiful spring.”_ Kyle says as they exit the palace again. “During World War II it briefly became the headquarters for a British Military Garrison. In 1961, President John F. Kennedy met the Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev in there.” The redhead states what the guide they’d been provided with had missed when they were inside. Just fun facts that Kenny is sure to forget in the near future but likes hearing for now.

“Come on, let’s check out the gardens.” Kyle grins at him brightly and tugs on his shirt to get him to stop gaping at the horse and carriage ride in the courtyard.   

He takes a photo of Kyle admiring the palace in the afternoon sun. The fiery curls glow illuminated and he knows that if he were a braver man, he’d set that photo as his background and then rush over and kiss Kyle silly. Kyle takes one of both of them in front of the fountain behind the palace.

“The Neptune Fountain.” Kyle sits down at the edge of the fountain and dips his hand into the water. “This is the foot of the Gloriette hill. The sculpture piece was commissioned by Empress Maria Theresa. That’s Neptune and his entourage. At the base of the grotto, those snazzy lads, they’re the tritons. His squad.” Kyle grins proudly as he lists off what he knows.

“Damn, they had style in ancient Greece.” He hums, watching Kyle enjoying himself.

“Roman, actually. But yes, real classy.” Kyle ruffles his hair fondly. “The garden’s got a maze in it, if you wanna get lost for a while.”

That teasing tone is going to be the end of him one day. He’d love to get lost here with Kyle. He’d love to just get lost in Kyle’s eyes. God, he sounds like a broken record. They climb the hill with the arch-y monument and take a selfie with the palace in the background as the sun beams overhead.

“Oh, my god!” Someone squeals to their right as they’re sitting on a bench in the park, admiring the easy atmosphere.

They startle and turn to look to where the sound is coming from. Two girls, probably younger than them and obviously excited start approaching them and Kyle grips his wrist in alarm. He prepares for impact, for defending Kyle against unwanted advances by underaged girls.  

“Can we help you?” Kyle pipes up, not sure how to proceed at being gawked at like this.

“Oh, um. Sorry, we were just-” One of the girls starts but then cuts herself off, looking away shyly.

“You’re, um, Kyle and Kenny right?” The other one interjects, looking eager but timid as well. “We – we’re fans of _BebeBeauty_ and we’ve been following your Instagram ever since she recommended it so – guess we’re your fans, too.” She finishes and the other one nods.

“I’m Szonya and this is Iva, we’re from Hungary.” The first one adds, “We just wanted to say hi, I guess. And ask for a photo, maybe?”

“Oh, wow. I – I didn’t know we _had_ fans.” Kenny stares at them, a little dumbfounded as Kyle’s hand continues the death-grip on his wrist.

“You’re kidding, right? You guys have, like, eight-thousand followers by now!” The one called Iva says excitedly. “Your numbers are still growing. You guys, you’re like – gosh.” She gushes silently and Kenny feels his cheeks heat up.

“We love all of your photos. Especially the ones of Kyle in Scotland!” Szonya grips her phone and waves it around, brandishing it like a weapon almost.

“Well, um – expect some more tonight when we get WiFi, I guess.” Kyle finally releases his wrist and grips his backpack straps instead.

“So, about that selfie?” Iva tries again and he jolts out of his seat. “We also wanted to suggest you guys do a little like – I don’t know, lifestyle stuff? Like, Instagram stories of you arriving at hotels and maybe lunches. That would be cool and maybe get your profile out there more.” Iva suggests further and Kenny thinks it’s a little creepy that people are interested in that. But it seems like they’re genuine in their suggestion, the two don’t seem like creepy stalkers. He ignores the offer for now, though and goes for that selfie instead.

“Uh, yeah, sure!” He pulls Kyle with him and Kyle stumbles towards the girls. The two are short so Kyle has to bend a little to be in the frame and they take several shots.

“Thank you guys so much!” Iva jumps up and down a little. “We look forward to seeing more photos!”

“Mm!” Szonya confirms and they scamper off with matching waves.

“Well that was...” Kenny breathes out, breath a little shaky.

“Yeah.” Kyle chokes out and Kenny bends over laughing.

“Dude, we have fans, what the hell??” Kenny wheezes and Kyle smacks him on the back.

“We’re famous, man!” Kyle kicks him in the ass and Kenny scrambles not to fall over.

“God, let’s just go get food. I’m starving.” He pulls Kyle after him and out the gates of the garden.

That afternoon he takes the first ever photo of their lunch and posts it online.

He video-calls Bebe in the evening with Kyle’s phone. He doesn’t know what time it is in America but he knows she’ll pick up.

“ _Kenneth!”_ She squeals with joy and Kyle, who’d been draped across the middle of his back, shudders at the sound.

“Hi, babe.” He grins at her indignant snort. “Guess what happened today?”

“ _You got some good dick?”_ She immediately jumps at the chance and he rolls his eyes.

“Is everything about dicks with you?” He bemoans her words and Kyle laughs, face squished into the bed.

“ _Yes when I’m talking with you!”_ She chirps. “ _Srs, though, what’s up?”_

“We were at Schonbrunn and we met a couple of fans! Can you imagine? Me n’ this lame-o! We got fans now! You’ve both blessed us and cursed us.” He wails dramatically and she gasps.

“ _Well, duh! You guys are good at your little travel log-photography-thing. People like seeing pretty boys at pretty sites. Of course you’re a hit.”_ She gets too close to the camera and Kenny can see the faint acne scar she has next to her nose.

He makes a face at her and she sticks her tongue out at him. “I hope we don’t get recognized everywhere we go now.”

 _“Hold your horses, Ken, you’re not_ that _famous.”_ She rolls her eyes fondly and he pouts at her.

“You’re just scared we’ll get more clout than you.” He states firmly and Kyle wiggles his way in so that he’s half on top of Kenny and half on the bed, his head next to Kenny’s in the frame.

“Hi, Bebe!” The redhead greets and Bebe coos.

“ _Hi, Kyle, sweetie!”_ She greets back, obviously fond and happy to see them so cuddly.

“Hope you don’t mind that we’re taking all of your followers.” The redhead grins and Bebe whines.

“ _You too, Kyle? Don’t let the fame get to your head! Don’t lose yourself!”_ She lectures them and then the video cuts off before it comes back to her drinking wine in an armchair.

“Don’t worry, Bebe, Ken will keep me in line.” Kyle reassures and Bebe fiddles with something momentarily and then grins broadly at them.

“ _You should do something for when you hit ten K. Maybe post a pic at the beach, show off Kyle’s six pack.”_ She hums in wonder and Kyle splutters.

“A six pack? I don’t have a pack of any kind!” The redhead protests and Kenny elbows him.

“Really dude? I’ve seen you after a shower; you’ve got the beginnings of an eight pack!” It’s true, Kenny’s caught himself staring at the lean muscles that line the other’s torso more often than he’d like to admit and had to force himself to look away.

“I’m not flashin’ my abs on the internet, Bebe.” Kyle whines and Bebe does too.

“ _You’re terrible. Selfish! For keeping them to yourself! You too, Ken! Just sneak one in there!”_ She points at them accusingly and Kenny rolls his eyes. He’ll probably do it anyway, just to see how the internet reacts.

“We’ll send you nudes in the DMs if you really wanna see. But those are for your eyes only!” Kenny winks at her sultrily.   

“ _You guys are so sweet, I gotta go, though. Make sure to call me from the seaside, I wanna see the blue of the Mediterranean!”_ She waves at them and Kenny waves back, grinning as Kyle makes kissing motions at the camera.

“I don’t like that smile.” Kenny says, squinting at the screen and the now-ended call. “She did something. She’s up to no good.”

Kyle rolls over, a hum emerging from his throat. “What do you think she’s up to?”

“Well,” He gulps as he checks Bebe’s new Instagram story. He’s met with his own face and Kyle’s squished in next to his, cheek to cheek. Bebe’s face is in the corner as she grins at them and they smile back. A screenshot from the call, them looking all cosy, and the words added by Bebe that read: _missing my fave bois! These two are too cute!_

He doesn’t know what the fans are saying but he can imagine it. He can imagine the heart eyes that they all see when they look at him looking at Kyle like that. He feels cold all over. The tips of his fingers are icy and the big palm that settles over them is burning.

“You okay?” Kyle questions quietly and Kenny shakes his head, shakes his hair out.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. We look super cute.” He shows Kyle the screenshot and Kyle croons.

“I don’t know about me, but you sure do.” Kyle teases and Kenny whines internally, rolling himself over to lie on Kyle’s back in jest.

“Stop it you flatterer, you spoil me!” He aligns himself to Kyle’s body, ass to ass, head to head. His legs are shorter than Kyle’s and he wiggles his toes, heels digging into Kyle’s calves.

“Only the best for the up and coming internet personality, Instagram influencer, Kenneth McCormick.” Kyle breathes out with a giggle.

Kenny can feel the rise and fall of his torso as he breathes. Kenny doesn’t even think Kyle is struggling under his meagre weight. “Now, just because we’re becoming famous, don’t think you can ditch your college career. Education comes first.” He warns lightly and Kyle scoffs.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna throw everything into the wind just because we got a few thousand followers on _Instagram_.” Kyle reassures him and Kenny wiggles on top of him.

“Good.”

“You, though, you could make a job out of this. I know you’re not planning for college, Ken, and I’m not gonna try and change your mind. We could get you a nice camera once we get back. You can make this a business, get your art out there. Post some sketches or some paintings.” Kyle rambles on and Kenny loves the feeling of the other’s voice rumbling against his back.

“I’d rather die than put my art for all to see, thanks.” He frowns at the idea. Photography was different. Showing Kyle a couple of sketches of flowers was different. But putting all his drawings of Kyle, Stan, Butters and all their friends online? Even his fanart? That’s out of the question. He knows it’s not bad art but he’s nowhere near confident enough to share it.

“Ken... you should give it a try.” Kyle rises up into a push-up and Kenny squawks.

“Dude, don’t flex on me so hard, my fragile ego can’t take it!” He whines as Kyle continues to do push-ups with him on his back. It’s a little shaky but Kenny manages to stay on.

“I’m serious, Ken; you should give it a shot. People love your photos, they’d like your drawings as well.” Kyle is persistent as always.

“I’ll make you a deal.” He slides off of Kyle on the next downwards motion. “I’ll post a drawing but it’s gonna be a drawing of you.”

Kyle quirks an eyebrow at him, seemingly interested in the prospect. “You gonna draw me like one of your Austrian girls?”

“In a big dress with a big collar and your curls up in a messy bun? Sure.” He grins as Kyle swats at him.

“Fine, but you’re gonna do it for the ten K celebration.” Kyle decides and gets up, dropping his shirt and heading towards the bathroom. His word is always final.

That’s sooner than Kenny would have liked but he hopes the influx of new followers slows down a bit so he has time to gather his balls from where they’ve been scattered across the continent.

“Okay, fine. Okay.” He talks to himself mostly, since Kyle’s n the bathroom now. He’ll either draw a new one or pick out one of the other dozen he has. He’ll probably try and incorporate Kyle’s abs into the drawing just so that he can stick it to him, probably draw him in one of his loose South Park Cows jerseys.

He tugs off his (Kyle’s) cargo shorts and slinks under the covers, ready to contemplate this sudden BS some more until he falls asleep.

Eventually Kyle comes to bed too and they fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing.

* * *

 

Graz is a beautiful town but it’s only as beautiful when compared to Kyle. It’s been two days since Vienna and they’re moving forward now. Kyle’s next destination is Hungary and some lake named Balaton. Maybe they’ll get to jump in for a quick dip.

He has to find a way to off himself without making a big spectacle of it. In all his time, slitting his wrists has never once been an option. There’s something too visceral about it, too raw. He’d usually opted for a gun, quick and easy. But he doesn’t exactly have access to firearms, this isn’t like America where you can walk into Wal-Mart and buy an AK47 or a 9mil.

“Wanna do something crazy?” He asks, legs swinging over the edge of the edge of the monkey bars.

Kyle, bouncing himself up and down alone on the seesaw, hums. “Like what?”

“I don’t know; rob a jewellery store or something.” He suggests, feeling ballsy.

“Ken, no.” Kyle rolls his eyes. “We’re not robbing anything.”

“Why not? I kinda miss home, we did crazy shit in South Park and nobody batted an eye.” He sighs and Kyle nods, agreeing but not adding to the conversation.

Kenny eyes the other, Kyle seems a bit down. Maybe it’s in the face of Kenny’s certain death, again, maybe he’s scared Kenny will be absent for longer than it’s ideal. Kenny needs to cheer him up. He needs to do something shitty and cheesy and make Kyle’s damn day.

“Go back to the room and wait for me to come get you. We’re doing something illegal tonight and then I’m dying like I’m supposed to.” He says firmly and Kyle jumps off the seesaw in protest.

“Ken, no, no police suicide. Don’t do stupid shit!” Kyle tries to grab him but Kenny’s quick and sneaky. He dodges Kyle’s long arms and kicks up dirt as they circle each other in a weird dance of skill and endurance.

“No suicide by cops, Broflovski. Just trust me on this.” He lets Kyle pull him into his arms in a bear hug.

“Be careful, Ken.” Kyle whispers and Kenny jolts away after a pinch to Kyle’s sides.

“Always am, Ky.”

* * *

 

He waltzes into the Museum of Modern Art like it’s his place to be there. The building is huge and weirdly shaped but he likes it. He walks over to the security stand and nobody seems to notice he’s there. He doesn’t know how that’s a thing still but right now, seeing as it allows him to go around unnoticed, he’s thankful.

He rounds the little stand and the two men manning it and goes past the door that says personnel only. He takes one of the key-cards off the wall and the keychain with dangling keys on it. Nobody notices. He pockets his findings and looks around the museum. He translates some instructions on how to turn the lights on and off and makes notes on his phone which switches to flip. He scouts out the empty spaces in various exhibits to see which one would host a late-night picnic best. The gallery is full of bright colors and various modern sculptures but there’s still a lot of empty space here and there.

He walks out in possession of an employee key-card and the keys to the building.

He goes to a store and buys a blanket, goes to a restaurant and gets a meal to-go. He packs it all into a decorative basket he got at the farmer’s market for free because he was sweet enough to the old ladies there that didn’t speak English. He stashes the things into one of the bathrooms and slaps the _‘out of order’_ sign onto the door.

He loiters around and waits for it to get dark.

When it’s passed closing time he goes back to the hotel. He knocks on the door and waits for Kyle to answer. It feels oddly like he’s picking Kyle up for a date and - just like _that_ , he’s second-guessing all the decisions he’s made in the past few hours.

Kyle answers the door in one of his nicer button ups and Kenny feels silly in ripped jeans and one of Kyle’s old graphic tees. He feels inadequate, standing there at the door with a half-assed plan for a nice evening that seems too much like a date when Kyle looks so put-together and ready for whatever bullshit Kenny has panned.

“Hi. Um.” He tugs down the shirt to cover one of the ripped belt loops. “Ready to go?”

“Where are we goin’, Ken? I didn’t know what the dress code was.” Kyle motions to himself and Kenny thinks he looks perfect. But he always thinks that.

“It’s good. You look – good. Just let me get something and then we can leave.” Dashing into the room, he picks up his sketchbook and his drawing utensils. He stuffs them into the complementary tote bag they give in the hotel lobby and goes back to the door. He exits the room and waits for the other to close and lock the door.

The walk to the museum isn’t long, thankfully, and Kyle only gives him a suspicious look once or twice. Kenny just keeps grinning. He’s going to have a nice time with Kyle in the museum and they’re gonna find a way to kill Kenny together.

“Ken, what the hell?” Kyle hushes as Kenny pulls out the keys and unlocks the door. He swipes the card to disable the alarm and ushers Kyle inside.

“Don’t worry, they didn’t even notice I took anything. I’ll leave the keys and the card at the door on our way out.” He grins and flips the switches to light their way towards the _HyperAmerica_ exhibition.

The corridor that leads towards the exhibit is lit up by the neon bulbs, leading them towards their destination. He snatches Kyle’s phone out of the other’s pocket and Kyle looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I need to take some pics, go and wait for me.” He takes the phone under pretence of doing his art thing but in reality he heads to the bathroom to pick up the basket and goes to the employees lounge to reheat the meat and the pasta in the microwave. He grabs the bottle of wine he spies on one of the shelves while he’s at it; it’s a nice Italian wine he’s never heard of. He hope’s Kyle’s okay with sharing the bottle because he doesn’t see any wine glasses anywhere and he hates drinking alcohol from mugs.

“God, McCormick, you’re a fucking idiot.” He talks to himself as he looks at the rotating food in the microwave. Pathetic. He packs the food back into the basket and lays the blanket over it. The floors are concrete so he hopes the layer will be enough.

He walks back over to the exhibit and finds Kyle staring up close at one of the photos. The exhibition itself is _violently_ American like the name would suggest. It screams USA in the 50s or early 60s and Kyle is currently staring at a photo of a retro metal trailer.

Kyle is glowing under the neon lights, surrounded by all things American. Kenny can’t think of anywhere else that Kyle belongs more to than at an art gallery. He has the uncontrollable urge to take out his phone and snap a photo of him so he does. Just Kyle in the wide open space that has walls lined with large photos of vintage American things and icons that seem cool but are laced with bad history underneath. The photo he takes is one of his favourites definitely. He posts it online immediately, the caption reading _life imitates art, Photo by K. McCormick._ He feels silly for posting something as cheesy as that but – it’s not the cheesiest thing he’s done today. Speaking of.

He clears his throat, bashful and nervous as Kyle turns around to eye him.

“I miss home. As crazy as that sounds, I miss South Park and America. I found this exhibit when I was googling shit to do here earlier today and thought we can come see it. But the museum’s always filled with people so. Yeah. After hours.” He walks into the middle of the room and sets the basket down. “I know we didn’t get any proper food today so I got us something from the restaurant down the street.” He takes out the blanket and spreads it out, motioning for Kyle to sit down.

“Awh, Ken. That’s sweet.” Kyle coos and Kenny shakes his hair out so that it covers the red of his cheeks.

“I also stole this wine from the employee’s room so like – breaking and entering, theft. Illegal but – not too much, yeah?” He chuckles as Kyle sighs in exasperation.

“You always lookin’ for trouble, Ken.” Kyle crosses his legs into the lotus position and bounces a little as he waits for Kenny to serve their dinner.

“Trouble always finds its way into my life, Kyle. It’s not always _my_ fault.” He puts the food onto the blanket and gets Kyle a fork and a knife, plastic as they are it’s better than fingers.  

“It’s almost like the entire town of South Park is cursed.” Kyle eyes the food with renewed interest.

“We’re all a little cursed, Kyle.” He lectures like a pre-school teacher would and Kyle snorts.

“This looks great, Ken.” The redhead sniffs at the plate of pasta, gulping audibly as his stomach grumbles.

“Thanks, I bought it myself.” He beams proudly as Kyle bursts into a fit of giggles.

It seems surreal. It’s almost exactly like one of his sappier dreams. He feels like he fell through a portal into another dimension, one where he’s free to reach across the food spread between them and grab Kyle’s hand and bring it up to his own face to kiss. Where he’s free to shove the food aside and climb into Kyle’s lap, kissing him so fiercely that he runs out of breath. But he can’t do that, this isn’t that universe. He can only clench his fists against his thighs as Kyle moans around a bite of pasta with shrimp, slurping the noodles heartily. _God._

“Good?” He asks, his voice thick in his throat; the meat he’s eating tasting rather bland. His hunger’s of a different kind and, yeah, he’s aware he sounds like a shitty sexual predator now but. His heart’s hungry too, ravenous and deprived. Yuck, _love_.

“Fuckin’ great, man, I was starving.” Kyle smiles with his eyes, close-lipped due to the food and Kenny dies a little on the inside. Maybe he’ll have a heart-attack and save them the trouble of trying to find some way for him to die.

“Did you see the photo Butters sent this morning?” He decides switching topics would be a great idea.

“God, yeah, they look happy.” Kyle says, somewhat shy all of a sudden.

 _Great, McCormick, put one more foot in your mouth._ Kyle’s probably weirded out now because Kenny had so blatantly brought up his super best friend’s sex life up to the table. _Great_.

“What? You not happy with me, Broflovski? Thought we were having a ball!” He whines theatrically just to see that little smile stretch Kyle’s lips prettily, eyes glimmering with mirth.

“Can’t remember ever being happier, Ken.” And it sounds so genuine that Kenny is taken aback a little, almost choking on his bite of food. He clears his throat.

“Good. I-” He loses his train of thought as Kyle eyes him curiously, emeralds so vivid that Kenny loses _himself_ as well a little. “I'm glad.” He ends up saying and then turning to his phone, desperate to play something to fill the silence as they eat.

He settles on the _feelgood_ playlist he usually plays when they smoke up at Craig’s. The funky beats and the trap-y sound of _Sweet_ by Brockhampton fill the air. He knows that _Zipper_ is next and then _Self Care_ by Mac Miller. He doesn’t care about beyond that, he doesn’t know when the rest of his faves are gonna come on – it’s mostly Craig’s _depresso_ music on there and some contemporary Fall Out Boy because Craig’s stopped wearing eyeliner but you _can’t take the_ _emo_ _out of the boy_. He hopes the few Twenty One Pilots songs he knows are next so that he doesn’t have to think about Kyle subtly bopping to the music.

They pop open the bottle of wine when they’re close to finishing the food and it’s surprisingly strong. They split it relatively evenly between the two of them, getting a light buzz going. They shove the containers into the basket and lie down, staring up at the light fixtures descending from the rafters like they’re stars in the open night sky.

“Let’s play something.” Kyle announces suddenly and Kenny, pleasantly warm and gooey on the inside, hums – not thinking about how it could potentially be a bad thing. He trusts Kyle not to make it bad.

“Like what?” He inquires instead.

“I dunno, twenty questions?” Kyle offers and Kenny laughs.

“Ky, we’ve known each other for our entire lives I doubt that there’s anything you wanna know that you don’t already.” He giggles thinking about drawing Kyle again, he should do that now while he’s still relaxed enough not to clam up when Kyle asks to look.

“C’mon, we can just ask stupid shit. For funsies.” Kyle pokes him in the side with a spindly forefinger and Kenny squirms away.

“Fine, but I'm gonna draw you while we play.” He states bravely and pulls the sketchbook and his art supplies out of the tote, holding the notebook close to his chest.

Kyle’s cheeks colour suddenly, “Getting a head start for that ten K, huh?”

“Please, by the time I come back from the dead, we’ll be past it. Promise not to post it without me there, though.” He says thoughtfully, wondering if that really will be the case.

“Alright, yeah. Um, where do you want me?” Kyle sits up, looking at him expectantly and Kenny swallows around his response of _anywhere, everywhere, wherever you’ll let me have you._

“Go sits against that wall, here.” He hands Kyle the empty tote so that his butt doesn’t get cold while sitting there and Kyle obediently follows instructions.

He flips the last drawing he did of Kyle – the redhead sitting on a bench in Paris, right after Kenny had spawned anew after diving off the Dover cliffs – onto a new and clean page. He starts sketching automatically, familiar with the lines of Kyle’s face and he does so until he realizes it might seem sketchy if he just drew Kyle from memory like it’s nothing.

He takes a look at Kyle and the other is looking at him intently. He quirks an eyebrow and takes in Kyle’s posture. The redhead is leaned against the wall, one knee bent and an arm slung over it. The shirt he’s wearing pulls across his chest and Kenny grins to himself, already sketching out the chest underneath, ready to throw those abs into the drawing.

“Alright, Broflovski, ask your questions.” He waves his hand at the other and Kyle hums.

“What was the first time you died?” Kyle springs that one on him and his hand stalls briefly.

“Right to the heavy shit, huh?” He chuckles as Kyle winces at himself. “Let’s see.” He tries to think about it but he can’t really recall it. It seems like this shit’s been happening ever since he was a baby. “I don't know but the first time that I remember it properly is when that whole thing with Canada sprung up. When they wanted to execute Terrance and Philip. That’s the first time I went to hell, too.”

“Jesus. Cartman still gives me shit about my mom starting that sometimes.” Kyle groans loudly and Kenny snickers. Cartman is a vengeful and petty fucker, of course he would hold a grudge.

“What happened, how’d you die then?” Kyle asks again and Kenny gives a warning _a-ah!_

“That’s question number two, Broflovski. I’ll answer but then I get to go two times.” He grins as Kyle rolls his eyes, seemingly already forgetting that they were playing the stupid game. “I talked to Satan, gave him relationship advice and then sacrificed myself for peace on Earth.”

“Damn, Ken.” Kyle breathes out, he watches his chest heave.

“Yeah, the usual. Came back in like, a week and everything was back to normal.” He shrugs casually, wondering how Satan was doing now and if he settled down with someone new. He hasn’t been back that part of hell in a while.

“My turn,” He contemplates his options while staring at the slope of Kyle’s bumpy nose. He could ask some silly shit like _when did you first get pass-out drunk,_ or _did you ever have a crush on Stan_ or _when’s the first time you took it up the ass_ but he goes for the option of less resistance. “What brought this whole half-baked trip plan on? I know you told your mom you’ve been thinking about it for years but I know you, Broflovski. Something made you snap and you thought _fuck it, I'm outta here.”_   He poses the question he’s wanted to ask since Kyle had shown up at the H&M store last year.

Kyle stares at him, seemingly astonished by the in-depth question that’s popped up. “I.” The redhead starts but then stops to think the answer over. “Last year mom brought me a briefcase. She said that it was supposed to be my graduation gift because I’d be going to the law school they picked out for me this year. And I just – I lost it. I sold the briefcase, sold all the law books they got me, sold my gaming consoles, my fucking _laptop_ and bought a cheap small one. Sold anything of value to save as much money as possible. Just so I can have a solid foundation of funds and to start saving up for – escape, I guess.

“I couldn’t let her dictate my life anymore. This trip was a start to that. I wanted to go out alone and see what the rest of the world that’s not a war-riddled desert or gang-wars Denver had to offer. I know this falls under the Jew-joke category but I’ve saved for most of my life. I used to think I’d buy a house or an apartment with that money but now I see that it’s always been my backup plan. To get away, to leave that shitty house and break away from them. Ike can always be their golden boy, he loves being the golden boy. I just – I just wanted to be Kyle. Not _Kyle the future Lawyer,_ taking after his dad. Not, Kyle the Jewish boy, _so studious and well-mannered_ and boring as fucking white wheat bread.” Kyle runs a hand through his hair, messing up his red curls further and drawing Kenny’s eyes to the bright color.

“I know you thought I’d be that, too.” Kyle smiles at him sadly. “I don’t blame you. I never gave you any reason to doubt that. I always did what was expected of me. Your face was priceless, by the way, when I showed up at the store and told you why I'm working.” This time around, the grin on Kyle’s face is shit-eating and Kenny rolls his eyes.

“Never should have doubted you, Ky. You’re a wildfire.” He lets some of the fondness seep into his tone and enjoys the way Kyle’s eyes crinkle at the corner as he smiles.

“Next question.” He bites his lip, wondering if he should expose himself and his vulnerabilities like this but then – there’s the pretence of alcohol shielding him for a bit so he goes for it. “You said you wanted to go out alone... do you... _mind_ that I'm here? That you’re stuck with me?”

Kyle wheezes something fierce on the next intake of breath. “Jesus, Ken, _no._ Never, I – I’d probably go crazy if I were alone. Germany was hell for me, Ken, I didn’t know travelling alone could be so fucking depressing.” Kyle looks like he wants to reach out, crawl over to him and scoop him into his arms but is holding himself back for the sake of Kenny’s art. “I don't think I’d feel the same if it were anyone else, though. I’d have probably strangled Stan by now if it was him.”

He snorts, thinking about Stan complaining about every little thing along the way. They both love the guy like a brother but Stan always has this kicked-puppy air about him that brings the whole building down if he is sad. Stan would probably try and rationalize Kyle into cutting his trip short, too. There _is_ such a thing as _too much Stan_.

“Okay, light-hearted stupid shit questions now, please.” He announces as it is Kyle’s turn again. He adds the details to the pattern of the shirt that Kyle is wearing (unbuttoned in the drawing, of course) and erases a wrongly drawn line with a faint _tsk._

“Hmm,” Kyle throws his head up to stare at the lights. “I always wanted to know this, actually. Have you n’ Butters ever – _y’know.”_ A little red in the face, Kyle waves his hand through the air vaguely.

 _Interesting,_ Kenny thinks to himself. This was, apparently, something Kyle’s thought about before. Well, he can’t blame him. He and Butters _were_ close throughout their middleschool and highschool years. He can’t fault the redhead for his curiosity when he’d been wondering about the same thing but with Kyle and Stan instead.

“No, we’ve never, _y’know.”_ He mocks lightly and Kyle kicks out his leg uselessly. “I’ve thought about it, sure. But no. Not that I wouldn’t have been up to it but Butters has been hung up on Stan for so long that it just seemed offensive to even try anything. Did grope his ass a fair bit, though.” He grins, outlining the muscle of Kyle’s legs inside his jeans firmly, making a solid line of his shape on paper.

“Huh, I always thought you’d have at least once. But I get it. Butters is still a sweet kid despite how he portrays himself now. He’s still the Butters we met as young brats. Still a hopeless romantic.” Kyle chuckles lightly and Kenny hums, barely letting the silence settle before springing another question in the air.  

“My turn. Have you and _Stan_ ever, _y’know.”_ Kyle blushes a fierce bright red at the question, hands coming up to cover his face.

“Fuckin’ _touché_ , McCormick.” The redhead mumbles and then shakes his head and Kenny thinks he means to say no but then the redhead continues. “I lost my virginity to Stan. _God,_ Jesus, why am I telling you this?”

“Dude.” He stares at the other. “Dude, we’re friends. You should have told me this i _mmediately_ , what the hell, man?!” He feels offended, honestly. He thought at least one of them would have come forward with this information even _if_ he suspected it to be true.

“Jesus, I don't know, Ken. It wasn’t something that came up in the conversation, y’know. Couldn’t just go _hey, by the way, I gave Stan that cut dick last night, how about that, huh!?”_ Kyle wails in embarrassment and the voice echoes through the empty space.

Kenny is frozen at his words, though. That’s the most salacious thing he’s heard Kyle say in like, ever. He doesn’t even try to deny the shot of arousal that bolts through him at the sentence and the image of Kyle slamming into Stan’s ass that pierces through his mind like an arrow. He kind of regrets asking now, but not for the reasons one might think. It’s not jealously, no, because he knew this to be a fact already – realistically speaking. It’s more that he’s got an awkward semi now that he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Ha, Butters owes me fifty bucks.” He manages to choke out and Kyle looks at him with a funny expression.

“You guys, suck.” Kyle rolls his eyes, hand making a movement to grab his phone and Kenny remembers he still has it. He takes it out of his pocket and snaps a photo of Kyle like that, against the wall, relaxed and smiling. He slides the phone across the floor and the redhead protests briefly before picking it up.

“I dunno why you keep taking photos of me.” Kyle swipes through the Instagram feed.

“That your question number four?” He asks, trying to mask the nervousness he feels. If he phrases this even slightly weirdly, he could be throwing everything into the wind. _Don’t say it’s because I love your face. Don’t say it’s because you’re a work of art. Don’t say it’s because you’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen and I want to immortalize every moment with you._ He tries to coach himself mentally, _lie, fib, bend the truth._

“Yup.” Kyle grins over the edge of his phone. It’s probably close to past midnight now, probably about time they leave but – he’s not done drawing Kyle yet. And who knows when he’s going to get the chance to draw Kyle like this again.

“You have an interesting face.” He admits it in the gentlest way possible. It’s not untrue; it’s not the entire truth either. “It’s a whole aesthetic, really. Pale, ginger, freckles, tall and lanky. The internet goes nuts for that kind of shit. Your face has sharp features, symmetrical lines. It complements the surroundings well and the whole fire-y color scheme goes good with nature.” He tries to throw out as much artistic bullshit into his sentence as possible to mask the awe in his voice,

“Jeesh, Ken, didn’t know you spent that much time contemplating the _aesthetics_ of my face.” Kyle says and looks away, the blush clear on his cheeks and making his freckles stand out even more.

“You asked, Broflovski, don’t get all shy about it now.” He shrugs nonchalantly and continues etching the curls of Kyle’s hair into the paper. “Hn, why’d you drop basketball? You could have gotten a nice scholarship with it.”

Kyle sighs, “I didn’t want to keep trying to juggle college work and sports. Besides, do you know the trouble that college sports are? Like, the coaches absolutely fucking _suck_. They’re always some angry old men that didn’t get to live out their college sports dream and are trying to live vicariously through their team. The student athletes don’t get paid enough. Nobody fucking cares if they’re injured and if they’re injured they get dropped, if they’re dropped they lose the scholarship and then what? It’s a nightmare I’d rather not deal with.” He gets the rant out and Kenny blinks in rapid succession. He honestly never thought about it. He’d seen it on the news and on the internet vaguely but he understands it.

“Makes sense. I’ll miss your games, though. The team fucking sucked but you always carried them to victory.” He grins proudly at Kyle who’s once again humbled by the praise. There’s a lapse in conversation as Kyle seems to contemplate something before letting the question out.

“I know you – ugh.” Kyle fiddles with his curls and for a moment Kenny is scared that the rest of that sentence is _you love me._ But then Kyle continues and it’s somehow worse. “Do you regret saving me?”

“Kyle.” He puts the pencil down and crawls forward closer to the other. “Kyle, we’ve been over this. No. Never. Not in a million years would I regret saving you, any of you. I know we’re stuck together now but maybe it won’t always be like that. Maybe I stop dying so frequently and things go back to normal. But I don't mind being stuck if it means you’re here, alive and well. I’d have chosen perma-death if it meant you could be safe.” He feels raw again, split open and letting Kyle see into his innards.

 Kyle can see him now in all his self-sacrificing, no self-preservation glory. They’re too emotional. The two of them are idiots spilling their guts over each other every time he dies. He didn’t think it’d ever be like this if any of them _did_ know that he died and came back to life. He half expected it to be taken as a joke. That Kyle would laugh it off, pat him on the back and give him a beer. But he feels like a fleshy wound, a scab someone keeps picking at. He feels too raw.

“Ken.” Kyle clambers onto his knees, hands reaching for him, grasping his face. “Ken, that’s stupid.”

For a hot delirious second he thinks Kyle’s gonna kiss him. But the redhead just drops his forehead onto Kenny’s chest, pressing against him and feeling for a heartbeat. He breathes out evenly. “I know. I guess I never grew out of my Mysterion phase after all.” He chuckles and Kyle’s fingers flex against the sides of his neck, rising goosebumps in their wake.

“I appreciate it. But never do it again. I don't want to live with that kind of guilt, Ken. If you _had_ died and I remembered it – I don't know what I’d have done.” Kyle admits lowly and Kenny wants to weep. He never wants Kyle to feel guilty. He never wanted Kyle to feel anything other than happy.

“I can’t promise you that.” He says, slow and measured, only the truth left now.

“I know.” Kyle whispers back and hugs him firmly, almost in his lap at this point.

They pack up the things Kenny brought and feed the leftovers to the stray dog loitering around by the dumpster outside. They leave the key-card in the place Kenny found it earlier and they leave the key in the door as they lock it on their way out.

They’re walking next to the Graz armoury museum building when Kenny feels it. He stops and hands the tote to Kyle who’s already carrying the basket. Kyle looks at him wide-eyed and Kenny smiles sadly.

“Go, I’ll catch up. Gotta tie my shoe.” He crouches down and Kyle nods, uneasy all of a sudden.

He feels the shift in the air, watches Kyle amble down the cobblestoned road, not looking back. Good. He stands up and the glass on the second floor window breaks, one of the canons comes rolling out of it and dropping onto Kenny with a sickening crunch. He doesn’t know how Kyle reacts, doesn’t get to stick around because Death is tugging him out of his body and shoving him onto the boat back to the land of the living.

“Hey, buddy.” He calls after Death. “No more twelve day absences, yeah?” He challenges lightly and Death flips him off. He snorts and shakes his head, preparing for the dizzying return.

* * *

 

He wakes up on a rocky beach of some kind. The sun is high in the sky and Kyle is sitting shirtless on a towel next to him, pale skin glowing in the sunlight. He blinks lazily and then closes his eyes again.

“That was such a fucking bummer, my dude.” Kyle whispers tipping his sunglasses down to look at Kenny with red eyes. He wishes he’d stop making Kyle cry like that.

“It was certainly a new one. Never had that happen before.” He admits quietly, not daring to look at Kyle again.

“We hit ten K last night, do you want to post the drawing?” The redhead asks while pulling out his phone and Kenny’s sketchbook out of his backpack. “I didn’t peek at it, though.”

He appreciate the thought but his stomach churns at the prospect of the whole of internet seeing the drawing anyway. He takes the proffered items and flips to the drawing. It’s finished and ready to go but he’s still so damn nervous. He pushes it towards Kyle for a second opinion first, fingers shaking just a little bit.

Kyle stops breathing the moment his eyes meet the page and Kenny thinks he’s done for. The color red always looks beautiful on Kyle, but it looks the prettiest on his cheeks which is irrelevant when Kenny is thinking about walking into the lake and drowning himself to avoid the widening of Kyle’s eyes behind the sunglasses.

“Ken, this is...” The redhead trails off, seemingly speechless.

“I had to get the abs in there, for Bebe’s sake, y’know.” He winces as Kyle takes his phone back and snaps a photo of the drawing in his stead. He’s probably scared that Kenny will back out of the deal.

“This is really – I _do not_ look that good, what the hell, Ken?” Kyle whines, not looking at him and instead busying himself with posting the drawing.

 _Oh,_ he thinks. _Oh, shit._ He’s just given Kyle unlimited access into his own Ky-vision. He’s let Kyle in on how Kenny sees him, how he’s nearly perfect in Kenny’s eyes. But it’s realism. Nobody’s vision of one thing is the same; this is just how Kenny sees the redhead. He can imagine how it must be bizarre for Kyle to see through Kenny’s eyes. To see himself like an art piece of high renaissance.

Too late, he realizes Kyle’s flipped the page to a previous one and is staring at his own face again. Thankfully, Kenny was smart enough to space the drawings out between doodles of other people and sceneries. So as Kyle continues to flip through it, he only sees his own face on occasion. However, there _is_ always a noticeable difference in quality and the detailing.

“These are all really, _really_ good, Ken. They’re amazing. God, look at Stan, I remember this.” Kyle thumbs the side of the page where Stan’s wide eyes stare back at him. It was the day Stan won his first big game as quarterback and captain of the team. He had the look of shock and awe so innocent and disbelief that Kenny had to draw it when he came home.   

“I like to capture moments that matter.” He shrugs, “I didn’t have a phone with a camera back then. I learned how to do realistic drawings instead.”

Kyle looks down at the sketches again and then at the phone, smiling sweetly. The redhead checks his phone and then nods at something on the screen. “They love the drawing, Ken, like I knew they would.”

“God,” He groans, thumping onto his back again. He feels his phone vibrate several times in a row and he closes his eyes, imagining the slew of messages that are incoming.

He pulls it out of the wretched device and sees that the first message is from Butters.

_> Ken!! ur drawing again!!_

He smiles, he hasn’t shown Butters any of his drawings in a while so he knows that Butters thinks he’d lost interest in art altogether. He wasn’t exactly going to show anyone any of his pining-mood drawings. Even though Butters knows, he doesn’t _know_ know. Kenny’s never confirmed or denied anything, everyone can just speculate as usual.

> _Never said i stopped_ _;)_

He responds before opening up the next text which happens to be from Craig.

_> thats pretty gay, McCormick _

The following message from Craig comes as he’s trying to find something snotty to respond with.

_> r his abs rly that ripped??? _

He grins, biting at his bottom lip, oddly proud at Craig’s obvious envy. He snaps a selfie of himself with Kyle in the background in response. The redhead’s looking at his phone, Kenny’s sketchbook on his lap and he’s leaned back enough to showcase the cut of his hips and the structure of his abdominals. The lake in the background glistens and Kenny’s own blonde hair is like a halo around his head. He sends the photo to Craig with a lot of tongue emojis in the following message.

> _dude, idk y ur not hittin tht_

_> none of ur business craigory .I. _

_> start hittin that or imma sicc tweek on him _

He snorts in amusement but he can’t deny the spark of fear at the thought of losing Kyle to someone else. Even though it _is_ gonna happen eventually, he’s not ready for it to be now.

“Did you just flash my abs at someone?” Kyle squawks and Kenny grins up at him.

“Craig needed proof, I’m sure everything he does with the photo further will be pure and genuine.” He rolls away from the flailing arm aimed at his face.

“Gross, dude!” Kyle whines, covering his face with his hands like he does every time he gets too embarrassed.

“What? Not flattered? Not interested in Craig and his chiselled face, thick thighs and stern steely gaze?” He scoffs, finding it honestly hard to believe.

“And what about you, huh? You sure are all buddy-buddy with him.” Kyle turns the conversation onto him as he does often, another tactic to avoid embarrassment.

Kenny reaches to the side and fiddles through the cords in the other’s backpack, pulling out a pack of smokes – some foreign brand since he’d smoked the last of his original pack. He takes one out and lights it up, letting the nicotine wash over him.

“I had a threesome with Craig and Tweek last year.” He admits for the first time. He’d never brought it up, it was a drunken, throw-away idea at someone’s birthday bash and they’d cornered him after he kept suggesting it very insistently and drooling all over them throughout the party. He was never subtle but he never really expected them to take him up on his flirting.

Kyle chokes on air, hacking up a lung as Kenny grins at the clouds above. It was always nice to see he could still shock Kyle into a fit like that. He was beginning to think that living in South Park had numbed them all to shock.

“Dude, no way.” Kyle finally coughs out, his glasses falling halfway down his nose.

“What? Don’t think I can score?” He sits up to shake out the ash from the stick.

“No, that’s not-” Kyle flails for words before settling on a groan. “I just. You know. They’re like _together_ , they’ve been together for the longest time. I didn’t think they’d – add? I guess?” Kyle, so eloquent and literate, fumbles for words.

“Dude, it was just a quickie in Clyde’s parents’ room. It’s not like I’m dating them suddenly. Though, polyamory _is_ a thing, Kyle; don’t be thick.” He preaches smartly even though that’s not exactly true because it wasn’t a quickie.

 “I know _that_.” Kyle hisses. “I just – you know. That’s kinda wild.”

“Not everyone does missionary _only_ all the time, Kyle.” He rolls over onto his stomach, grunting at the stones that poke his soft middle rather painfully.

He checks his phone again and finds another unanswered message there, this time from Stan that just reads _?????dude._

He snorts and opts not to reply to it. Instead, he puts the cigarette out onto one of the stones and closes his eyes. His spine is still kind of stiff from all the crushing it’s endured but lying in the sun is relaxing. He hasn’t gotten a chance to relax like this in a while. He and Kyle have been busy bodies during the trip, always on the move.

“You wanna go in?” Kyle asks after a while, standing up and stretching his muscles out like he does after he’s been sitting in the same position for a while, usually at the library or behind the computer.

Kenny eyes him and then the water. He doesn’t know what’s in the water. He’s heard that these parts are haunted by giant catfish so he’d rather not risk it. He shakes his head decisively.

“Nah, man, you go ahead. I’ll watch the stuff.” He waves the redhead away and Kyle hands him his phone.

He makes the idiotic decision to check the comments on the drawing while Kyle splashes around. Most of them are thirsting over Kyle’s physique but there’re plenty of those who love his style and admire his skill. He skims briefly through them all, biting his nails and trying to find that one that’s going to make him quit drawing forever. Fortunately, everyone’s nice and they’re super stoked that he and Kyle are getting big. There are those, though, that suspect something is _up_ between _them_.

_y’all the chemistry!!1!_

Someone had written under the selfie Kyle had posted right after the drawing. It was one Kenny wasn’t aware Kyle had even taken. They were still in Graz, the playground before Kenny went and started preparing for dinner. Kyle was on the seesaw and Kenny was sitting at the monkey bars, looking at him but no seeing anything. Kyle was grinning and Kenny had a small, dreamy smile on his face. God, of course people would _assume._ No bro draws another bro naked with that much attention to detail. But they didn’t know them; they didn’t know Kenny’s been doing this shit since they were kids.   

Kyle splashes around in the water and Kenny soaks in the early afternoon sun. He hopes Kyle remembered the sunscreen otherwise he’ll burn up a bright red over his shoulders and nose. It always happened during the summer. His freckles became more pronounced under the sun as well; whole new clusters emerging everywhere like hundreds of tiny stars. He takes the sketchbook almost unconsciously and starts tracing the outline of Kyle’s shoulders, adding tiny freckles as he goes.

A shadow falls over him and a droplet makes its way onto the paper. He chokes in shock, scrambling to put the precious notebook out of harm’s way. “Dude!”

“Shit, sorry, man!” Kyle snaps back to a safe distance. “Hand me the towel, please.”

Kenny throws the cloth at the other and watches as Kyle dries his torso off. He observes how the redhead’s curls still bounce despite being wet. He looks away and down at the drawing, closing the notebook hurriedly. He thinks about Craig’s text and how he could probably come on to Kyle _like that_ but that would leave him with more pain than he’s willing to handle.

“You’re real good at anatomy, Ken, got much practice in?” Kyle’s eyes twinkle and he snorts.

“It’s all that porn I used to look at as a kid. I have an eye for spatial orientation and shit, picked up on a lot of dimensions and anatomy while I was young.” He shrugs, fiddling with his pencil under the scrutiny.

“Who says porn’s not good for ya’, huh?” Kyle ruffles his hair with his spindly fingers and Kenny leans into the motion, humming.

“I’ve grown immune to it, that’s the only downside.” He closes his eyes and enjoys the attention.

“You should let me braid your hair sometime.” Kyle says suddenly, diverting from the topic and into safer territory.

“You know how to do braids?” He smiles, looking up at Kyle who’s still standing at his side. “Don’t make them cornrows, though.”

“I can learn. How hard can it be? I know how to do fifty different knots; I’ll learn how to braid.” Kyle says confidently.

“I don’t doubt you will. Lemme know when you do and I’ll volunteer my hair.” He pulls out the hair tie that Bebe had given him once his hair had gotten long enough. He ties it into a decent little bun at the back of his head that makes Kyle smile sweetly.

“Should we get lunch?” Kyle looks back at the town, eyes pensive like he doesn’t know if these people speak English at all. It’s probably a concern, honestly.

“Oh, dude, I'm starving.”

* * *

 

Nothing much happens in Hungary. Lake Balaton is pretty nice and big and even thought the water’s a little cold, Kyle manages to make him take a dip. Nothing jumps out and ears him so he’s still alive by the time they get into Budapest. The capital is amazing; the inside of the giant parliament building is beautiful and filled with intricate wooden carvings. They get to watch the guard change around the crown jewels. They eat something called a _paprikaš_ and some puff pastry thing that was delicious for dinner. They visit the palace on top of Gellert Hill and contemplate going to the pool/spa there but decide that it’s better to avoid the crowd lest Kenny drown.

They’re staying in a hotel that Kyle has reserved up front. Down here shit is much cheaper than in America so they got a good deal for not a lot of money. He’s sitting down on the floor between Kyle’s knees while the other fiddles with his hair, trying to do a proper fishbone braid and struggling because Kenny’s hair is too unruly.

“You can just do a regular braid, dude.” He sighs for the umpteenth time, taking a selfie of himself and Kyle’s concentrated face for the Instagram story function. He does that and then opens up YouTube to play Kyle a tutorial.

Several minutes and some painful hair tugs later, Kyle has made him a braid from the forehead to the nape of his neck that winds down into a small fishtail braid at the end. Kyle’s dedication to learning is impressive but when he goes to dismantle his work Kenny springs up from his seat.

“Nuh-huh, you’re not touching it. We’re keeping the braid until I die.” He grins as Kyle whines.

“But I have to redo it! I don't like how it turned out.” The redhead tries to grab him but Kenny evades the flailing arms.

“Nope. I'm taking a photo of it in the bathroom mirror and posting it on Instagram.” He locks himself in the bathroom as Kyle bangs on the door in protest. He takes a shitty bathroom selfie with his back turned to the mirror to showcase the little braid and the back of his head.

Bebe DMs him instantly, like she has notifications on for their account. He wonders when he’d stopped considering it as Kyle’s and instead as _theirs._

_> U r too scrawny to b a viking lmao_

He rolls his eyes and rolls up his sleeve, flexing his biceps and sending her a photo. He chooses not to respond to the following string of emojis as usual. Kyle’s phone dings with an incoming message from Stan and he opens it before he can stop himself because he’s too used to manning their electronics these days.

 _Fuck._ He reads the message before his eyes can flit away.

_> you guys are okay, right?_

He wonders why Stan’s texting Kyle that but it’s not right to snoop so he doesn’t scroll up. Instead, he locks the phone and gets out of the bathroom. He tosses the device back to Kyle and nods at it.

“Swiped open on Stan’s chat bubble accidentally, don’t look at the Instagram DMs unless you wanna see my nudes.” He winks teasingly as Kyle rolls his eyes.

“Please, you parade half naked around here all the time. I have my daily eyeful already.” Kyle snipes right back and Kenny wonders when _that_ happened. When did Kyle become comfortable with his brand of sly humour?

“Oh, hush. You know you like seeing all that skin, Broflovski.” He sashays over to where Kyle is looking out through the window and at some fountain on a small square. He leans against the taller’s frame.

“It’s a nice city. Even at night, people milling about.” Kyle traces a finger along the glass almost wistfully. Kenny wonders what the hell’s gotten him feeling so melancholic.

He hums, squeezing the other’s wrist briefly before heading towards the bed. “It’s getting late. We have the panoramic boat ride down Danube in the morning.”

And as most things with Kenny go, he gets on the boat, gets on the deck. And then a giant catfish dives out of the water and swallows him whole like he’s just a smaller fish instead of an almost fully grown adult. Kyle’s scream is the last thing he hears.

* * *

 

He blinks his eyes open under the beating sun of a late afternoon. He’s sitting next to Kyle on some sort of marble statue base. The statue is of a guy on a horse pointing a sabre in the air, crafted finely with a lot of attention paid to the detailing on the guy’s uniform.

They’re situated in the middle of a city square that much is obvious. There are trams coming in from left and right, speeding, unloading and picking up people. The wide squares of the ground are surprisingly clean. On the right side there’s large stage set up, a bigass inflatable beer bottle reading _PAN_ on either side of the structure. On the left there are big tents with benches and tables, people sitting there sparsely but slowly filing in the longer he observes.

“What’s happening?” He asks and Kyle flinches in surprise, spilling some of the beer he’s holding onto the ground.

“Shit.” The redhead curses, “Don’t do that!”

He snorts and snatches the plastic cup out of the other’s hands. Taking a sip he hums, “Not bad. Where are we?”

“You’re back sooner than expected. It’s only been a few hours. We’re in Zagreb, Croatia. Dunno what’s happening. They patted me on the back, gave me the beer and slapped this jersey with the big 10 on it into my arms.” Kyle unfolds the red and white jersey with the last name _Modrić_ on the back.

Judging by the date, the slowly-filling crowd, and the big screen above the stage playing soccer replays he’s taking a wild guess and saying there’s a game about to happen. “What does the internet say?”

Kyle takes out his phone and googles for a moment before making a soft _ah_ noise. “The soccer World Cup is being played. Apparently the semi-finals. Croatia’s in the running for first place this year for the first time in ages.”

“Sounds intense, wanna stick around and watch the game?” He hands the beer back to Kyle and pulls the jersey over his own shirt. He looks ready to celebrate a win and Kyle quirks an eyebrow.

“You big into soccer?” The redhead asks.

“Nah but ain’t nothing like a celebration of a win to get the atmosphere heated. People are always brought together by these things, I like seeing it.” He shrugs, thinking back to Kyle’s basketball games and how everyone was brought together by their team winning. It always made him feel super floaty and happy. Sometimes the anonymity of the mass was what you needed to feel secure in your own skin.

“We can stick around if you want. Get some grub from the vendors. They’re selling some form of hamburger patties that are like little meat rolls. Smells great.” Kyle stands up and offers him a hand. Kenny sees a name written on the statue and he nods his head to it, hoping Kyle will offer up information willingly.

“ _Ban Josip Jelačić_ ,” Kyle's mouth forms the foreign words with some difficulty and mispronunciation. “The central square of the city of Zagreb. The guy’s a pretty big deal in their history or some stuff. A hero, that sort of thing. Not much to it. The oldest building here dates back to the 18th century, though.”

“It’s a cool square. Looks like it can hold a lot of people.” He rubs his hands together, excited at the prospect of a crowd big crowd. “Now, how about that food.”

* * *

 

The crowd reacts like nothing they’ve seen before. American football doesn’t have this sort of dedication (it _does_ but in a different way); these people aren’t even _at_ the stadium where the game is being played. The Americans’ reactions are not nearly as excited as people here are getting. And this - these crowds are formed all over the country in the bigger cities, in cafes and coffee shops all over. The news shows broadcast the crowds from other cities and their main squares. There’re so many people so invested in this and everything is color coded either red white and blue or chequered red and white. 

Croatia is playing Russia who is the host of the championship. The first time Croatia scores the sky lights up red with the flame of torches and the screams of people. He gets lost in it, the riot, the warmth and the beer droplets flying left and right. The songs, he doesn’t understand them, but they lift the spirits of the fans even more. The sound of their singing echoes through the entire city and he wishes he understood what they were saying but he doesn’t and it’s a bummer. However, that doesn’t stop him from trying to mimic the words enthusiastically.

Kyle, bless his heart, looks up the lyrics and the translation. It’s about fighting, about being small but sticking together to show that they’re there. It’s about loving your country and respecting what _She_ offers, what _she’s_ brought, and giving back in turn. So they mumble along, scream when it’s appropriate. Someone hands him a torch and he climbs Kyle like a tree to sit on his shoulders. He wears the jersey with the team captain’s number on the back and waves the torch burning brightly, shining like a lone star. Croatia wins and the crowd is absolutely _ecstatic_. He can tell Kyle is having fun as well because his voice has gone raspy from screaming encouragements and he’s so damn _happy_.

Kyle carries him on his shoulders as the crowd starts thinning out – nowhere near gone yet, but not as dense as before. The magnitude of people everywhere, even on the Jelačić monument are still celebrating and rallying. Kenny sees a photographer aiming her camera at them and he throws up his fist proudly. He may be representing something he’s not a part of but it’s fun to pretend.

“Lemme down.” He pats Kyle's head and the redhead crouches down so Kenny can hop off. The other twists to the side, popping his spine in several places and groaning.

“Holy shit,” Kyle breathes out and Kenny does wholeheartedly agree.

“That was fucking wild. Did you see the other cities as well?! This soccer thing is massive.” He chuckles, nudging Kyle to give him the phone. The redhead whines but does as obliged. He pulls Kyle down for a selfie. They’re both sweaty and flushed from excretion but they’re both beaming happily. It’s one of the better photos together they’d taken and he has to post it their Instagram account. He tags the location and writes _Hope Croatia wins this shit!_

He never knew being a fan of something could be so exhilarating. These foreign and strange people, celebrating their win without the customary riots that follow the Super Bowl in America. Someone gives them a bottle of something in cheer and Kenny, mistakenly thinking that it’s water because it _is_ a water bottle, takes a hearty gulp. His throat _burns_ and he splutters, coughing as the distinct alcoholic taste hits him.

“Shit!” He laughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What is that?!”

The girl that handed him the bottle smacks him on the back jovially, laughing. “Rakija, ne? Kako se...” She trails off and he doesn’t know what she’s saying but it sounds like she’s trying to explain.

“Ah! Moonshine, it is moonshine!” She moves away and he goes to give her the bottle back but she waves him off. “It’s good for health, keep.” She shouts and then disappears in the crowd.

He stares wide-eyed and still burning up a little before turning to Kyle who was already in stitches, laughing.

“Oh my god, you’re so red!” Kyle pokes him in the cheek where he’s feeling the heat from the alcohol all over his body like it was the strongest vodka. He doesn’t know what constitutes this moonshine but it’s mighty strong.

“God, try it.” He shoves the plastic bottle at Kyle and the other sniffs at it before making a face.

“That smells potent.” The redhead hesitantly takes a sip and recoils with a grimace.

“Fuckin’ makin’ fun of me n’ shit. Serves you right.” He takes the bottle back huffily and caps it. “Come on, let’s head for the hotel.”

They’re staying in a hostel close to the centre, pretty cheap and cosy. They’re in the room with two other people, a dude and a girl, both looking exhausted when the two of them manage to stumble their way into the room.

“Hello,” The two greet in unison and Kyle ducks away from the inquisitive glances the two shoot them.

“Hiya! Guess we’re rooming together for the night, huh?” He offers a friendly wave and the girl beams as the guy nods solemnly, going back to the book he was reading.

“My name’s Kenny and this is Kyle!” He motions to the redhead who chokes out an awkward _hi_.

“Nice to meet’cha! I’m Lea and that’s Joseph. Hope neither of you snore!” She grins brightly. Lea looks super friendly and Kenny wonders if _everyone_ around these parts is so joyful.

“Not that we’re aware!” Kenny giggles, “Where ya’ guys from?”

“Oh, from Croatia but a different city. We’re doing a museum tour through the biggest cities in the country. How about you guys, you sound plenty American.” She sits up, short blonde hair braided into a style that reminds Kenny of Vikings. He briefly considers asking her to teach them.

“Yup, born and raised in Colorado, USA. We’re touring Europe. Have been on the road for a month now.” He sits down onto the carpet to better speak with her since she’s on the lower bunk of a pretty closed off bunk bed.

“Oh, shit, that’s cool! Where’ve you guys been?” She leans forward, eyes sparkling in interest. It’s been a while since he’s properly conversed with someone other than Kyle.

“Ky, gimmie the phone, please.” He holds out his hand, blinking up at the ginger with an innocent look.

Kyle sighs and offers the phone, pretending to be put upon but giving the device over dutifully. “I gotta call Ike later, don’t kill the battery.”

They sit like that and go over the cities they’ve been to. Lea seems to be well travelled as well and he enjoys comparing experiences. He gets so into it that he doesn’t notice Kyle disappearing until he looks over for a second opinion and finds only Lea’s friend still in the room.

“Huh, where’d your boyfriend go?” She tilts her head and Kenny splutters, a mortified blush rising to his cheeks.

“I – we’re not.” He chops his hand down in a decisive motion and she grins mischievously.

“Well, he looked a bit miffed when he left. Maybe you should go look for him.” She winks, sticking her tongue out cheekily and Kenny fumes on the inside. He picks himself up from the floor and grumbles as he leaves the room.

He finds Kyle in the lounge, reading one of the books that are stacked on the many shelves there. Upon closer inspection it’s a book by Franz Kafka. Kenny grimaces at the title and name but slumps down next to the redhead on the sofa.

“Done chatting?” Kyle doesn’t put the book down, merely flips a page and continues writing.

“Hey, was just being friendly. Not my fault you’re a sappy introvert.” He grins, leaning against Kyle and feeling the fight leave him. He doesn’t know what got Kyle so worked up but he’s happy that cuddles can always help the redhead relax.

“Yeah, I guess... I was just – I guess I'm too used to it being just the two of us. Can’t really relax with strangers in the room. Sorry.” Kyle relents, throwing an arm around his shoulder and allowing the blonde to further lean against him.

“It’s fine, my dude. I get it.” He hums. “But I’ll still cuddle you during the night if you want, don’t worry!” He teases and Kyle’s grip on his shoulder grows tighter, an embarrassed squawk leaving him.

“Fuck off, McCormick.” Kyle grumbles and Kenny coos at him, always fond of the flush that comes up from the redhead’s neck.

* * *

 

They set off in the morning, a seven hour trip towards the seaside. However, when they reach the bus station in Zadar three hours later their plans change.

Someone hands Kyle a flyer and his eyes go wide. Kenny squints at him but Kyle pockets the flyer before Kenny can see it, pretending nothing was handed to him in the first place. _Suspicious._ Kyle’s not prepared for Kenny to lunge at him and grapple his way to the hidden flyer. The redhead whines as Kenny darts away, reading the piece of paper.

_Party Beach Zrće_

The colourful paper reads, showcasing several presumably prominent names of DJs and singers. It seems like the whole little city was a beach party town. He grins down at the text displaying all the drinking events and shit they were offering, already thinking about getting Kyle smashed beyond belief. It was time to have some fun in a loud fuckin’ place and maybe get laid because the tension he’s feeling is getting too unbearable.

“Don’t even think about it, Ken.” Kyle warns, snatching the flyer back.

“Well, I don't know about you, but _I'm_ going.” He waves a hand, walking towards the bus that’s titled _Pag, Novalja, Zrće_.

“Jesus, Ken, you’re not going alone!” Kyle vaults after him, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Well, then come along, Kyley!” He takes the other’s hands into his and shoves him into the bus to buy a ticket for the short bus ride to the beach.

* * *

 

Wasting two whole days partying and getting shitfaced was definitely not worth it. He’d say so too, but he doesn’t want to hear the annoying _I told you so_ from Kyle in return.

It’s especially not worth it now that he’s sitting on the sandy beach with Kyle in his lap chugging wine out of the bottle and swaying to the loud music. It would be fine, it’s not like he’s never been in this situation before. But here and now, when he hasn’t jerked it in over three weeks, it’s a very bad situation to be in. If Kyle shifts downwards even a fraction more, he’ll be giving Kenny and Kenny junior a lap dance.

“Kyle, dude.” He laughs as Kyle throws the bottle behind him. “Kyle come on, we should get a hotel room.”

Kyle’s eyes snap to him, they’re _smouldering_ and Kenny takes in a big gulp of air, sweat beading at the back of his neck. His shirt sticks to his sweaty sides and Kyle’s hands grip his shoulders.

“We haven’t slept since we got here, we should get some rest so we can travel tomorrow, yeah?” He whispers, the voice of reason for once. He’d stopped drinking about two hours ago when he’d started grinding on Kyle in the mass of people and then promptly decided that it was a bad idea to be drunk around Kyle at that moment.

“Mm,” Kyle hums, slumping down, thankfully onto Kenny’s thighs rather than on his dick. Kyle's hands pet his hair absentmindedly as the redhead looks around the less-populated part of the beach distractedly.

“Come on you big baby, you need a toilet to puke into later.” He smacks Kyle's thigh in jest and the redhead grunts, apparently beyond words at the moment and totally lost in his own head. That’s fine, at least he wasn’t trying to pick a fight with Kenny over stupid shit. Cuddly Kyle was much more bearable. At least when he wasn’t trying to climb Kenny.

“Hm, baby.” Kyle repeats dazedly and Kenny has to close his eyes at the onslaught of emotions that simple word in such a tone evokes in him. Man, fuck Kyle.

“Yeah, you’re as capable as one right now.” He chokes out, hands gripping Kyle's sides to steady him when he wavers on his lap. “Now off you go. We’re not passing out on the beach.” He looks around, noticing some people were already doing just that. He wishes he cared less about where Kyle slept. He himself wasn’t a concern since nothing permanent can actually happen to him but Kyle could get seriously injured.

“Oh, my god!” Someone to their side screeches and Kenny winces, getting real tired of people trying to talk to them in weird moments. He turns towards the noise and his eyes widen.

“Red!” He yells, rolling Kyle off of him to rush towards their former classmate.

Rebecca had moved away three years ago. Some misfortunate events had lead to Skeeter closing the bar and then heading over somewhere abroad to follow after his wife because she’d gotten a better job offer. It was a touching send off but they, as highschool kids with poor attention spans, lost touch with her fairly quickly. At least _he_ did. He knew Bebe still talked to her sometimes but the distance was too great to keep such a friendship alive. Especially at a time when they were all trying to find themselves.

She jumps into his arms and he hugs her. Her hair is still as fiery as ever and he remembers the massive crush he had on her before he realized it was because she reminded him of Kyle.

“Ken! Kyle! I missed you guys, holy shit! What are you doing here?” She smacks him on the chest and he remembers he should help Kyle off the ground.

“Shit.” He rushes towards the ginger that was trying to get his feet under him. “Easy there, dude. Easy.” He chuckles and Kyle leans his weight onto Kenny.

“Oh lord, he’s wasted.” She grins, braces on her teeth glinting. “What’s up, dude?” She tries to address him but Kyle turns away with a huff of something unintelligible, hiding his face in Kenny’s hair.

“Don’t mind him, we haven’t slept in more than 48 hours.” He snorts and her eyes widen.

“You gotta come back with me, then! We can chill at the apartment, wait for him to sober up and you can spend the night. Unless you have a hotel?” She offers, tugging at the hem of his shirt for him to follow her.

“Shit, Red, that’s great!” He breathes out. “We came here on impulse after someone gave us the invite flyer.” He hauls Kyle after the girl, letting her lead the way.

“I saw you were in the country. I follow your Instagram, of course. But I didn’t think you’d be stopping here.” She leads them to a parked car and jingles the keys at him.

He dumps Kyle into the back seat and takes the keys since he’s the only one sober enough. “We were heading for Dubrovnik but yeah. Got sidetracked.”

“You guys – I can’t believe this, what are the odds?” She seems giddy to be with them again, to have some part of South Park with her.

“How come you’re here? Thought you were in Italy.” He asks in turn, starting up the beamer and enjoying the purr of the engine. So much better than Kyle's beat up piece of shit ride back home or Stan’s shabby truck.

“Dad has apartments here now; it’s very lucrative all year ‘round. This place is a tourist trap! He lets me have one during the summer because Italy’s sea is pretty cold.” She elaborates, putting her feet up onto the dashboard. He’s tempted to smack them away but it’s not his car so whatever.

“Damn, Skeeter made it, huh?” He smiles, thinking about all the shit that went on in Skeeter’s bar back home while it was still open. It was now the Starbucks that Nicole sometimes worked part-time at.

“It was hard at first but once he got his head out of his ass and gave up on his dream of having a bar here, he saw the opportunities.” She snorts and Kyle groans from the back as Kenny takes a sharp turn onto the main road. “Down that road.” She instructs and he follows.

The whole island is particularly dry. They’re headed for the neighbouring city of Novalja and he observes as the moon lights up the empty horizon. He’s reminded of that one trip they took to Cali, the Nevada desert kind-of looked like this as well.

It’s oddly peaceful in a way. The streets of Novalja are filled with stumbling drunkards or those suffering from a wicked hangover. It’s everything he’s heard about European summers and more. If he were here for longer he’d probably get himself a summer fling, something fleeting and easy – no real love involved. But, alas.

“Holy shit, this place has a pool next to the sea. So it’s _that_ kind of apartment, huh.” He grins at her bashful chuckle.

“Heh, it’s pretty nice. I like spending time here; the people are very friendly when you got good money.” She unlocks the door and pushes them inside. Kyle's back on his feet now at least, so he doesn’t have to haul his ass up the stairs.

“Sounds like one hell of a place.” He hums, admiring the nice interior of the slightly-artificial-looking living place. It had that _out of the catalogue_ feel that he didn’t care for much. It’s a place to sleep, though, and it’s free.

“Gosh, you guys. It’s been too long! Do you want any pizza? I have leftovers from earlier! I freaking _love_ the pizza here and I can’t really cook so it’s like, the only thing I eat.” She shrugs sheepishly and he waves her away.

“Leftover pizza’s good. Kyle's about to get hit with the post-drinking munchies and he’s not picky. I’ll make breakfast in the morning.” He pats Kyle's head when the redhead tries to hang onto him after settling down onto the sofa.

“You two are the cutest.” She coos and hugs Kenny again briefly before scampering away to get the pizza from the kitchen across the entirety of the _apartment_ – it’s more of a house than anything else.

“You should sleep with her.” Kyle's voice suddenly cuts through his thoughts.

He bristles, turning around with hands on his hips. “What, don’t wanna snuggle anymore?”

Kyle's mouth tugs up in a nasty little sneer, somehow mean and teasing all at once. “I meant the sex kind of sleeping, McCormick.”

“Oh,” Kenny’s hands drop limply to his side, puzzled at why Kyle was suddenly suggesting this. “Why?”

“You had a thing for her back in school, before she moved away, yeah?” Kyle stretches out across the corner sofa, long limbs sprawling.

God, right, that. It was around the time where Kenny’s crush was beginning to look a lot like being in love than anything. And it had terrified him so violently that he’d clung onto anyone even remotely attractive to try and get rid of the invading feelings. Red just happened to be the right height, happened to have the right hair color and almost the right amount of freckles. He’d latched onto flirting with her with fervour and strung her along for too long in a really fuckin’ mean way. He could never bring himself to go further than flirting, though. It felt too weird, too close to home, right on the doorstep, but being locked out anyway.

“Maybe so but I’m not gonna abandon your drunk ass and let you choke on your own vomit in the middle of the night.” He exaggerates Kyle's state. It’s obvious that the half-hour ride helped sober him up some and he’s a little more coherent.

“I’ve been cockblocking you for the past month and some change. You can, y’know.” Kyle sits up; hugging his knees to his chest and looking oddly like someone kicked his puppy.

“Dude. It’s not like I need to fuck on the regular. Besides, it’s a mutual cockblocking gig we got going on. I haven’t exactly seen _you_ sleeping around either.” He looks back over his shoulder, not wanting Red to overhear.

“Yeah, but I’m not-” Kyle cuts himself off, frowning and paling a little.

Something protective rises up in Kenny at that, the urge to fight resurfacing. “You’re not what, Kyle? A slut?” He knew his reputation, no matter how exaggerated it was. It’s always been like that, it never bothered him. But coming from Kyle, who knew better, it was painful and hurtful.

“No, Ken, that’s not. Don’t put words into my mouth.” Confrontational-Kyle, then.

“What then, Kyle? What else could you have said there?” He growls, ready to deck Kyle in the face because he was suddenly in an irrationally violent mood.

“I’m not... usually desired.” Kyle finished softly, voice almost going out entirely by the end. “I don’t have fuck buddies and I don’t get laid whenever I’m feeling horny.” The redhead elaborates and all the fight leaves Kenny with a woosh.

Kyle, the epitome of perfection in his dictionary, Kyle the wildfire, Kyle the self-assured dickhole, Kyle the hottest team captain (sorry, Stan) in the entire state probably – was insecure. He sits down onto the low coffee table, elbows digging above his knees as he leans forward.

“Kyle, you’re either the most oblivious bastard out there or you’re genuinely stupid.” Kenny rushes out and Kyle makes a choked, offended noise.

“Fuck off, Kenny.” The redhead looks away from his stern gaze.

“Kyle. Kyley. Broflovski, babe.” Kenny prepares for his lengthy rant about why exactly Kyle was the most perfect human in the world but quickly realizes how that might out his own bias on the topic. “You do realize half the school has been thirsting after you for ages, right? That, hell – do you know how many times underclassmen approached me asking if you were single?” He throws his hands up, not believing that Kyle really was that oblivious.

“How – Jesus, I’ve had people try and sleep with _me_ just to get into _your_ pants!” He remembers that encounter rather fondly because he got to talk dirty to the chick with Kyle's name in his mouth much to their mutual satisfaction. It was one of the rare secrets he kept to himself.

Kyle whines at that, uncurling from his position. “No.”

“Yes! Kyle! All these people on Instagram, you think they’re here for the scenery?! You can find those photos on Google! They like the fiery, photogenic, _naturally_ _beautiful_ and handsome model that’s in most of them! They like the spontaneity. They like the aesthetics. I’d bet my right hand that more than half of them really fuckin’ _desire_ you, Kyle.” He’s standing up at this point, huffing and puffing. Okay, he didn’t manage to say anything too incriminating. Hopefully, Kyle won’t remember the part where he called him beautiful in the morning.

Kyle's eyes are a little glassy when their gazes finally meet. A shaky smile stretches his lips and Kenny breathes out in relief. He doesn’t say anything, though, and that worries Kenny so he puts his foot in his mouth again.

“You’re my muse, Broflovski, people love you. You just have to give them a chance.”

This gets him an armful of tipsy redhead and a shuddery breath in the crook of his neck. He holds Kyle and thinks about how they’re always a mess when they drink and that they should tone down the alcohol consumption probably.

“Spoken like a true artist, thanks, Ken.” Kyle whispers and Kenny hears the ginger’s stomach rumble in hunger. He laughs and pushes Kyle away.

“Come on, let’s see where that pizza’s at.” He takes the taller’s hand in his and leads him to where he’d seen Red disappear to earlier.

She’s asleep at the table when they find her, whatever sugar-high she was on had finally made her crash. He snorts and removes her hand from the middle of the plate with the leftovers.

“We should probably get her to bed,” He hums and nudges the plate towards Kyle who shoves half a slice into his mouth immediately.

“Eh, if you can lift her then you can take her. I’m too drunk for that.” Kyle grins at him and Kenny chuckles.

“I can haul _you_ around just fine, can’t I?” He boasts, flexing for good measure and making Kyle laugh.

“Alright, big man, off you go then.”

They get her settled into the room that looks the most lived-in at this point and Kenny remembers suddenly that they’ve left their suitcase on the beach. The backpack with all their money is here but the clothes are still in the keep-safe shed at the beach, shit.

“Shit.” He smacks his forehead.

“What?” Kyle slumps down onto the bed into one of the other rooms.

“We left the suitcase. We’ll miss the bus back to land if we go and get it tomorrow. Shit.” He throws himself onto the bed face-first.

“Ugh, we’ll go get it. Maybe we can stay here for a day longer.” Kyle turns towards him, an arm outstretched and already expecting Kenny to be the little spoon. It makes his cheeks heat, this is way too comfortable for two bros being bros, but it’s been like this since they began their trip and it would be too odd to deny Kyle the cuddles at this point.

“We can have a swim in the morning and then ask Red for the car and go and get it, yeah?” Kyle whispers, arms fastening around him like a protective barrier between Kenny and all his worries.

“Yeah, okay. G’night, Ky.”

“Night, Ken.”

* * *

 

 He wakes up in the morning before the other two in the house. He ambles over to the kitchen and opens the fridge to check for supplies. Not enough to make pancakes but just enough to make crepes, it’ll do. There’s some chocolate he’ll melt as well so they’ll have something to eat them with. He checks the freezer and is thrilled to find ice cream there, score. He methodically goes through the motions of making the runny batter and preparing a pan for the crepes. The oil heats and he idly runs the ladle through the batter, letting it fill the bowl-spoon and then letting it drip out.

He gets a good stacks going before Red wakes up and bursts into the kitchen, racing for the sink and downing a giant glass of water.

He raises an eyebrow at her and she glares back at him with expressive hazel eyes. Not the same color as Kyle, not even close, they’re more brown than green, really. She doesn’t have the nose either, no noticeable bump of a broken and healed bone. He doesn’t know how he’d ever thought she looked like Kyle; he must have been a delusional idiot.

“You guys tucked me in last night; that was oddly sweet.” Her expression smoothes over and he laughs.

“We’re not assholes _all_ the time.” He flips the crepe and she whistles.

“Those look good, damn.” She reaches for one and Kenny smacks her hand away.

“Wait for the other redhead to wake up. We’re having breakfast together.” He hisses playfully and she whines.

“God, Ken, you’re all _domestic_ n’ shit. I knew you had it bad but, wow.” She jumps up onto the marble countertop and he falters only slightly.

“I'm making you breakfast because you’re letting us stay here. And I'm making Kyle breakfast because he’s gonna be hung-over as fuck when he wakes up and he needs sustenance.” He elaborates slowly, not letting the distaste show on his face.

“Chatter, chatter. All I hear is a boy in love trying to cover for what the truth is. You have it written all over your face all the time, Kenneth.” She dips her finger into the melted chocolate and he frowns harder.

“Butt out of my business, Red. You been talking to Bebe again?” He growls.

He doesn’t know why he always gets up in arms about this. It’s obviously true. But that doesn’t mean he likes having his weaknesses pointed out to him and exposed to the world. He doesn’t like not being able to cover it with a bandaid labelled _humour._

“Don’t need to be talking to the lesser of the legally blondes to see what’s in front of me.” She leans back on the counter and tries to catch his gaze.

He smiles at the (not at all) subtle jab at his and Bebe’s matching hair colors. “Whatever you think it is, it’s much more than it. We should leave it at that.”

Red hums, a sad smile tugging her mouth upwards. “I used to have the hugest crush on Bebe, you know.”

The words make his eyebrows meet his hairline. He turns to her in surprise and tilts his head. “Really? When?”

“Ever since like, sixth grade.” She grins at his befuddled expression. “Yup. Even when I let you shamelessly flirt with me and pretended like I didn’t know you were doing the same thing I was.”

 _Shit,_ he never gave her nearly enough credit. “Huh.” He says dumbly, putting the last crepe onto the stack. “How about that, huh?”

“You’re not as slick as you think, Ken. I see the resemblance, I'm not blind. But – yeah. Didn’t make either of us very happy, did it?” She hops off the counter and pulls a jug of lemonade from the fridge, placing it on the kitchen island.

He watches her hop onto the barstool and make a grab for the crepes again. This time he doesn’t try and stop her. Instead he shakes his head.

“We were kids. We didn’t know any better.” He says simply even if it wasn’t that long ago. But a lot can change in a month, let alone three years. He walks out and back into the bedroom where Kyle’s star-fishing on the bed, limbs akimbo.

He smacks the redhead’s exposed calf briefly, not letting the hand linger there like it wants to. “Up and at ‘em, cowboy. Brekkie’s served!” He yells and Kyle startles, jumping upwards and toppling out of the bed clumsily. Usually, it’s Kyle who’s waking _him_ up but this time Kyle’s probably gonna be suffering the entire morning. Maybe he shouldn’t have yelled like that. Eh, serves him right.

“Goooood mornin’, Vietnam.” He screams again just to hear Kyle groaning from the floor. “We have pancakes and ice cream for breakfast, lemonade on the side, sugar. Up you go.” He hauls Kyle up by his armpits and Kyle lets him take most of his weight.

“N-no, Ken, bathroom, please.” Kyle stutters out heatedly, detaching himself from Kenny and sprinting over to the en suite with an alarming urgency. 

“Whenever you’re ready, we’re in the kitchen!” He chirps and walks back, bare feet padding across the tiles and floorboards. Privately, he’s satisfied with causing Kyle a little suffering. It’s good for the soul.

“That was mean.” Red says as she stuffs another crepe into her mouth. She’s made a noticeable dent in the stack and he squints at her.

“He had it coming.” He shrugs, leaning against the island with his elbows and manoeuvring the spoon from the square ice-cream box with four flavours. He abruptly remembers the luggage.

“Ugh, shit. We need to borrow your car, we left the suitcase at Zrće.” He groans in dismay and she hums.

“I’ll text my girlfriend. She works at one of the many bars there; she can pick it up and drop it off later. You guys relax by the pool or the sea, let Kyle rest and sleep off the hangover.” She waves a hand at him just as Kyle enters the room.

“Smells good,” Kyle passes behind him, groggy, steadying himself with a hand on Kenny’s lower back as he does so. Red smirks at him and wiggles her eyebrows. “You haven’t made these in a while.” Kyle hums and Kenny snorts.

“’Course I have, I make them for Karen all the time.” He waves a spoon at the redhead and Kyle snatches it out of his hand, dipping it into the ice cream.

“Rude.” Kyle huffs and pouts, jutting his bottom lip out. “I expect to _always_ be invited for crepes.”

“You’d be spending a lot more time at casa de McCormick if you were always invited.” He points out, knowing that his friends didn’t really like hanging out at his place.

“Well, I’d make the sacrifice for you.” Kyle says with a yawn and then catches himself. “And your crepes, of course.” The redhead tacks on after his jaw pops.

“And for his sweet ass, yeah?” Red throws in her two cents causing Kyle to choke on his next bite.

He bets he’s as red as Red’s hair at this point but he powers through the clench of his stomach. “Can’t guarantee it’s _that_ sweet but – I haven’t had any complains yet.” He winks at the female redhead that gives him a sore look in turn, knowing full well Kenny covers everything with bad humour. And Kyle’s hand is still on the small of his back, okay.

He goes to get a glass for himself and for Kyle just so that he can escape the warmth of the other’s wide palm. He’s gonna have a bigger problem than his blush if the ginger continues being this handsy.

“Jesus, it’s too early for this and I'm too hungover.” Kyle groans, slamming his head against the top of the kitchen island.

“This feels like the _right in front of my salad_ video.” Red hums, tapping her chin and Kenny’s eyes widen in panic. God, he hopes Kyle doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

“What?” The freckled bastard asks and he breathes out, glaring at Red for comparing them to bad porn.

“Here, drink this.” He hands Kyle one of the aspirins and slides the other one to Red. She may be chipped but he can see the little frown lines appear as soon as something sounds too loud.

“Thanks, Ken.” Red chirps and downs the pill with the lemonade.

Kyle leans against him, standing at the island instead of rounding it to sit next to Red. It’s weirdly comfortable despite Rebecca being there and seeing them in all their domestic glory. He hopes that by the end of this trip he manages to grow some balls and just tell Kyle how he feels. And maybe he’ll die for real, taking these hellish feeling with him into the grave. We’ll see.

* * *

 

They spend the afternoon splashing around in the pool despite the sea being less than 15 meters away from them. The palm trees cast lovely but slim shadows over them as they swim around. Eventually, they dry off and order some Italian food from a restaurant down the street. Red eventually forces them out the comfyness of the pool and into the clear azure Adriatic Sea.

He fulfils his promise to Bebe and snaps a photo of Kyle leaving the water looking like a sea god with hair the color of coral. Actually, he kindof looks like Ariel. The thought makes him laugh louder than he would like to admit and Kyle looks at him oddly.

Kenny doesn’t much like the sea now that he has open access to it. The water is entirely too salty and the danger of stepping on urchins and slugs seems to prevent him from taking more than just a dip. He indulges Kyle’s whining and swims some laps with the two of them but he retreats to the safety of the sandy shore soon after. Getting out of the water is a pain as well because the beach is a bit on the wild side so there’s a rough patch of rocks there that he has to limp across to get there. So once he’s out he sits on the towel and lets his hair bleach in the sun as it dries, becoming a pure, white-ish blonde rather than the golden they’re all used to.

While he’s watching Kyle splash around with Red, the two of them a pair of sirens amongst other swimmers who pale in comparison, a child approaches him. The child’s sparkling blue eyes stare at him inquisitively. The little girl can’t be older than four or five and she sticks out like a sore thumb with her dark skin and curly hair. He looks around, trying to spot her parents but there’s only a pair of white girls a little while down the beach and to their right there’s an old man sitting on a rock formation.

“Hello.” He offers a faint wave to the girl and she smiles, half her teeth missing.

She greets him back in a language he doesn’t understand but knows the greeting for what it is. The girl takes a seat next to him and offers him a little plastic shovel. In her other hand she holds a little bucket and he gathers that she wants to make a sand castle. He shuffles off the towel and makes a bracket between his legs to mark the place where they’ll be making the castle and moat.

He motions for the bucket and she hands it over, looking at him with wonder in her eyes as he fills the bucket and pats the sand until it’s enough to leave it standing when he upturns the plastic. She squeals in delight, giggling as he lets her dig around their little solemn tower. She gets up and goes to get some of the water and he keeps an eye out for her parents. He wonders where she came from, how she wondered off. Well, he’ll look for them later. He’ll entertain her for now, try and build Versailles out of sand and seawater.

They get a solid building going; the time passes in companionable silence and silent giggles that come from the little girl as the structure out the wings of the palace. The sun hangs lower in the sky and nobody comes looking for the child. Eventually, Red and Kyle get tired of slapping around a small foam ball in the shallows and make their way out of the water.

“Um, Ken... whose child is that?” Kyle pipes up first as he takes the scene in. He looks a little shell-shocked, eyes wide and hair dripping water over his shoulders.

“No idea. She wandered over here and offered me the bucket so now we’re building Versailles. I didn’t wanna move her around too much in case her parents show up but we should probably go look for them instead.” He puts a little flag fashioned out of a toothpick and some tinfoil onto the middle part of the structure. The child claps her hands excitedly and he grins, feeling proud of himself for making her smile despite her obviously being lost. With the corner of his eye he spots Red holding Kyle’s phone and taking a photo of them. He wonders what this would look like to an outsider. Teens on the cusp of adulthood and a small child happily demolishing the previously-built sandcastle between them.

“Come on, then.” He holds out a hand and the girl takes it, he lifts her up and onto his hip leaving Kyle and Red to pick up their stuff and dart after him.

“Did someone lose a child?!” He calls out as they reach the actual beachfront where people are still lazing around despite the sun lowering.

“Come on, yell with me.” He coos at the girl and even though she doesn’t understand she lifts her arms up in a cheer and starts babbling in the foreign tongue.

“Yeah, that’s the spirit.” He laughs, feeling oddly light and missing Karen being a little ankle-biter always hanging off his sleeve. “Anyone! I have a lost child here!” Unashamed because he knows this needs to be done, he screams and draws attention, hoping to catch the eye of the child’s parents.

“Hey-o! I found someone’s child!” He screams as loud as he can, letting his voice carry and Red screams behind him in Italian and broken Croatian. There’s a scream from the distance and a woman, crying and weeping comes rushing towards them, arms outstretched.

“Mama!” The little girl giggles, wiggling out of Kenny’s hold and towards the woman.

 _“Darja, muj bože!_ ” The woman rushes towards the kid and gathers her up in her arms, hugging her close.

Kenny approaches them slowly, not wanting to alarm the woman and also not being sure if they speak English. The mother is shaking and trembling as she clutches the giggling child. The little girl obviously not realizing what had happened. The resemblance between them is very obvious, the curly hair and the dark skin, the only difference being the color of their eyes.

“Um, hi. I, uh, find your daughter. I mean – she found me, and we then made a sand castle.” He ruffles his hair, unsure of how to proceed now.

“Thank you.” She looks up at him with teary eyes. “I was so worried, I-” The woman takes in a deep breath to calm down. “We came to the sea from _Čeština_ and her father he’s back home- he. Oh, thank you!” She rubs at her eyes and the kid looks between them, concerned.

“It’s nothing. I was keeping her busy trying to see if someone will come for her but, yeah. It’s a pretty hidden away spot, I dunno.” He shrugs, smiling down at the kid reassuringly.

“I don't know how she wandered off. I was talking to her father on the phone one moment and then the next she was – gone.” The woman kisses the kid’s cheek and the child babbles something and points behind Kenny to where Kyle and Red are trying not to eavesdrop.

“ _Sirény!”_ The little girl announces and her mother laughs through held-back tears.

“She’s saying that your two friends over there are mermaids and that she wanted a closer look.” The woman bounces the child in her hold a little and the kid giggles with mirth.

“Ah, yeah. The do look like something out of a Disney movie, don’t they?” He grins, fighting the laugh wanting to break its way out of him due to the similarity of his own thoughts from earlier.

“How can I ever repay you?” The woman whispers reverently and he snorts.

“Nothing to it, m’am, just doing my civic duty. I couldn’t in my good conscience let her go unattended.” He shrugs, feeling humbled and a little awkward at the situation but – all in a day’s work for Mysterion. Not Kenny, though, Kenny would gladly take the quick buck but – not today.  

“Thank you so much, again!” He pulls him in for a one-armed hug and smooches his cheek like all his girl-friends do.

“No problem, again, take care.” He waves to the child again and turns around, walking to where Red and Kyle are waiting for him, not even pretending to do something else anymore.

“Aren’t you the good Samaritan?” Rebecca laughs and slaps him on the shoulder. He winces at the sting and thinks that he might have gotten a little sunburnt.

“Got any good shots?” He takes the phone from Red and sifts through the footage. There’s a few of Kenny holding the little kid on his hip and yelling and then some of him and the kid making the castle while Kyle watches over them with _something_ in his eyes. He doesn’t look at it for too long before posting it on Instagram, captioning it with something quirky that makes it seem like the kid’s theirs – fuel to the fire and all that. He adds a proper explanation further in the description just in case. He – he likes the look of the photo. He likes the soft look on Kyle’s face and it’s doing too many things to him – too many things that he doesn’t want to face, probably ever. He doesn’t want kids. He does not. He just misses Karen, that’s all.

He briefly remembers when they were a bit younger, when he got saddles with babysitting Karen but had plans to hang out with Kyle and the guys instead. Stan and Cartman would usually bail because hanging out with little kids wasn’t cool. But Kyle, who had a younger brother, knew what it was like being the older sibling. Ike hung out with them from time too so it was only fair.

And Kyle always indulged Kenny with Karen, played with her just as he would with Ike. They had tea parties and they let Karen boss them around, let her don Kenny’s princess dress and crown and acted as loyal knights while Cartman and Stan fucked off somewhere else. And it had always made him like Kyle even more. Goddamn the shitty redhead and his unbearable charms.

Anyway.

“Come on, back to the house. My girl’s about to drive over with your shit.” Red waves her hand vaguely and Kyle looks at him for movement. He snorts inwardly and decides to follow Red instead of protesting. He _is_ getting pretty hungry anyway so it’s for the best; he wasn’t getting in the water again anyway. Kyle though, he looks a little sad to be leaving the coast but – there’ll be more shores to swim along, Kenny knows.

“No wallowing, Ariel, we’re hitting up Split and then Greece next, they have plenty of beaches there.” He smacks Kyle on his bare back and the redhead hisses at the sting. Serves him right for applying too little sunscreen, Kenny _did_ warn him.

“God, you’re such a bitch, Ken!” Kyle whines, trying to clutch at the spot that was no-doubt stinging like crazy.

“That I am.” He winks at the tall ginger and skips ahead, pep in his step at the thought of food. That he’ll probably have to make. Because the other two were useless in the kitchen. Sigh.

He ends up making pasta for them with what he finds in the fridge and some suspicious-looking canned tuna. It’s good, he gets high praises and he thinks that their standards really ought to be higher but him and Kyle have been eating hotel food or unhealthy fast food for a month now and it’s only normal that something simple yet home-cooked would elicit such a reaction.

Around ten p.m. there’s a knock on the front door and Red rushes towards it with an excited squeal. Him and Kyle stagger out as well, if only to be polite. They’re greeted by the sight of a short-haired girl twirling Red in the air happily, the two of them sharing an innocent peck before Red demands to be let down.

“Aleks, these are my friends from South Park, Kenny and Kyle. Guys, this is my best girl, Aleks.” Red spares them the introductions and they’re only obliged to exchange polite handshakes.

“Red’s told me some about back home. You two got into trouble a lot, didn’t you?” Aleks grins, her teeth barred innocently but with an underlying threat in there somewhere.

“Eh, that’s South Park for you. Everyone got into trouble. The place is a magnet for shitstorms.” He shrugs, not letting himself – or Kyle – be pinned as troublemakers just yet. That comes only _after_ they’ve caused the trouble. They’ve been fairly good at avoiding that lately so – he hopes he didn’t just jinx it.

“So I’ve heard.” She nods, seemingly appeased for now. “Got your bag, you guys were pretty out of it those two days.” She chuckles lowly and wheels in the suitcase.

Kenny cheers, rushing to grab it. “Thank god! I can stop free-ballin’ it now!”

Kyle groans behind him and Red and her girlfriend burst out in laughter. Tension diffused for the time being.

* * *

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kyle, doubtful as ever, asks as they observe two burly men load crates of frozen fish into a small boat that will take them to a bigger one that will _then_ take them to Split – hopefully through calm waters and legally.

“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” He looks over to where Aleks is talking to another woman in their native language. The two of them look a little shady together, like something you’d see in one of those Cold War era movies – like, the two tattooed girls hanging out next to a bar in a dingy club filled with smoke and neon green lights while Russian techno played in the background loudly. Except Aleks has an entire sleeve of _Dragon Ball_ scenes and moments tattooed on her left arm instead of prison stick-n-pokes and communist icons. Maybe he’s still under the impressions of _Atomic Blonde_ since they watched that during the slow morning.

“Isn’t this like tempting fate?” Kyle whispers furiously, brows furrowed into a perfect disapproving frown.

“Eh,” He throws up a hand in a dismissive manner. “What can you do, if I die, I die.”

“Ken, come on, this is serious.” Kyle whines a little. “These guys don't look all that trustworthy. What if this is illegal?”

“Like we haven’t done illegal shit before, Kyle.” He scoffs, far be it for him and Kyle to play the saints when they’d done the shit they’d done as kids.

“Yeah, but like-” Kyle waves a hand in the air frantically.

“Look, if shit goes down you’re happy to say your little ‘ _I told you so’s_. Okay?” He grips the backpack strap firmly, deciding to stand his ground on this one.

“Fine, whatever. Just – ugh. Just know that I hate this.” Kyle stomps his foot and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Stop pouting, you big baby.” He flicks the redhead on the nose and Kyle bats him away. “Besides, you hate everything.”

“Not true, I like cats.” Kyle grins and Kenny snorts. “And birds, birds are cool.”

“You’re a _cook_ , Kyley.” He hisses teasingly, pushing Kyle towards the two men waiting for their companions to board. “Up you go, babe.”

“I'm gonna miss you guys all over again!” Red wails and embraces them both in a strong hug.

“We’ll come around again. Eventually.” He chuckles, squeezing her back. “You’re always welcome to visit as well.”

“I’ll try and make time during the winter break.” She promises and sniffles a little. “I wish you’d stayed longer.”

“We’re on a tight schedule and we’re already behind. We’ll-” Kyle sighs and with a slight smile continues. “We’ll see if we can make our way back here after the tour’s done.”

Kenny, struck dumb by the generous offer from the taller of the reds, gasps loudly causing Kyle to roll his eyes violently.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Ken.” Kyle grumbles but smiles shyly after it.

“I'm holding you to that!” She grins and pushes them in the direction of the boat. “Have a safe trip!”

And perhaps it _was_ tempting fate. Perhaps Kenny never should have left South Park in the first place (not like he had a choice in the matter, though). Perhaps the universe really _does_ hate him.

Because as soon as they board the bigger fishing boat that’s well-stocked and capable of bringing them to their destination something goes awry. Nothing with the ship per se, the ship is great.  It’s got a name scrawled on its side that Kenny can’t read and a little flag with a mermaid flying under the flag of Croatia. The girl with the tattoos is the captain and there are more burly men on board.

No, the problem is that the moment they hit open seas, the sky darkens and the men start shouting what Kenny presumes is _‘it’s supposed to be sunny today!’_

“Clear skies, my ass.” The captain mutters loudly in oddly familiarly-accented English and tries to steer away from the oncoming storm.

The sky in the not-so-distant distance rolls with stormy clouds and lightning flashes. He can see the fear in Kyle’s eyes as the redhead grips the railing with all his might.

“Ken.” Kyle whispers, the same fearful eyes meeting his and for the first time in _years_ Kenny is legitimately scared of dying. Not because he may not come back, no, but because this time he might actually take Kyle, the ship and its crew with him. And he can’t have that.

“I'm jumping overboard.” He decides, shedding the backpack and giving it to Kyle. “I gotta get off the ship before it’s too late.”

“Ken, no!” Kyle tugs him back, scared but so stubborn still. “You – they’ll handle it. It’s not like this is their first storm. Come on, let’s get into the cabin. Please don’t leave now.” The last part of the sentence, the plead, is silent and Kenny physically can’t say no.  

But he’s scared. He’s scared because he feels it that this isn’t the worst of it yet. This isn’t all that’s coming for them, for _him._

Kyle ushers him into the cabin where the captain is shouting into the microphone of the radio receiver. The redhead grips him firmly as the boat starts rocking slowly. The men outside don yellow raincoats and start prepping the boat for the stormy seas and tall waves.

The seagulls sound off in the distance, upset and getting the hell out of dodge. They should never have boarded the damn fishing boat. Kenny knows better than to tempt fate like that and yet here they are. He should have listened to Kyle.

“I should have listened to you, I'm sorry.” He apologizes, letting Kyle hold onto him for comfort as the crew of the ship riots when the waves start rocking the boat.

“Yeah, well. A little late for that now, yeah?” Kyle hushes. “We’re gonna be okay.”

 _Too early to say that,_ Kenny thinks, blinking rapidly as water starts pelting the glass windows of the captain’s cabin. The captain herself shouts something at them but Kyle just whips around to wave his hands at her frantically.

“ _Fuck_.” She grunts and then shoves them further inside the boat’s hull. “There’s another ship approaching. Whatever it is – it’s not good. Only bad, heavy ships travel seas in storms.” She explains and Kenny’s stomach convulses at the thought of what’s going to happen next. She goes back up and Kenny shudders as the bad feeling crawls along his skin.

Something hit’s the hull _hard_ and Kenny immediately darts away from Kyle, picking up one of the harpoons that’s mounted on the wall. “Stay here.” He orders sternly, voice taking on a growl that Kyle hasn’t heard since the last time Mysterion was around.

“Ken, no! Whatever this is, let them handle it!” Kyle pleads and walks after him.

Kenny sighs inwardly and pushes him back gently, “Dunno if I have any more pieces of my soul to spare, Kyle, you gotta stay here. Please.” He closes the door to the cabin they were in before Kyle can protest.

He dashes up the stairs, harpoon hidden behind his back as he storms into the middle of the mess developing on the deck. The flag of the other looming _massive_ ship is a very crudely drawn skull with crossbones under it. Of course it’s fucking pirates. The men on board hold automatic guns pointed at the fishermen as the pirate captain shouts something at them in the language neither her not the pirates understand.

“What’s this about?” He growls, stepping forward fearlessly, whipping out the harpoon and pointing it to the nearest pirate – tip of the spear to throat.

“Weapon’s down! We’re taking the fuel.” The captain of the pirates, decked out in black with a bulletproof vest and a baseball hat on his head, demands. He points his AK at the sneering fishermen and their captain. The rain pelts down upon them, the thundering loud and the lightning spearing the sky. It’s too dark for Kenny to get a good look at them – not that it would help but what he _can_ do is use the darkness to his advance.

“No can do, buddy boy.” Their captain shouts over the rumble of thunder, her hair plastered to her face but her eyes are livid. “We got places to be. Take your little peashooters and leave us!” She demands bravely and Kenny can see the twitchy trigger fingers itching to press down and barrage them with bullets.

“We’re taking the cargo whether you give it willingly or not!” The pirate captain yells and one of the fishermen gets shot in the leg for his efforts to move closer to the cabin. Everything falls still for a moment before they descend into panicked shouting again, weapons waving and threats flying. The sky darkens further the longer their makeshift Mexican standoff goes on and Kenny disappears between the crates on the boat during the next lapse of darkness right after a lightning strike.

“Where’d he go?!” One of the pirates shouts and they all start looking around frantically. He can see their reflection in the windows of the captain’s cabin but he’s just out of their line of sight. Taking a deep breath, he prepares for what is to come.

He rounds the corner of the crates swiftly and switches his grip on the spear for an easier stab. Taking a leap as silently as he can he spears one of the men through the shoulder, away from the heart but enough to get him to drop the gun he’s holding. Someone fires off a shot that misses him and he whips around, taking the spear and swinging it in an elegant ach and cutting the man that took the shot across the face. The man shrieks in pain and drops his rifle. Kenny abandons the harpoon spear and picks up a firearm as the captain sounds the alarm. He rolls behind a crate as bullets start flying, the pirates finally realizing what’s happening.

A shot catches him in the bicep and he hisses but powers through, aiming the automatic in the darkness and waiting for the flash of light to start shooting to disable and not kill –he’s always fancied himself a Batman but even Batman has off days. One by one they go down but much to his dismay, more of the pirates from the main ship come pouring in and soon Kenny is outnumbered. He throws himself into fighting them in hand to hand combat instead, trying to knock out as many as he can. The rain chills his bones but the fire he feels in his gut – from the adrenaline, the pain, the _fear_ – keep him going, keeps him ducking and rolling and attacking even as his knuckles split apart from heavy hits thrown. He gets stabbed in the thigh and he pulls the hunting knife from his flesh with a shout, blood pouring out as he steps forward to imbed it into the man’s ribs. And really, he’s still just on the cusps of adulthood despite his immortality – his body can only take so much.

The pirate captain catches him off guard, slamming the hilt of the gun into the back of his head and just like that, he’s falling against the wet boards of the deck. His eyes are unfocused but he can still see the pirates dragging the injured members of the fishing crew to one side of the deck as the boat rocks violently. And then – then they find Kyle and Kenny can only scream in horror as his body shakes before he falls unconscious.

* * *

 

He comes to and expects the greeting to be immediate and done by Kyle as usual after his death. Instead, he’s greeted by the blazing sun stinging his eyes. He didn’t die, he didn’t fucking die. And he’s still on the, now-abandoned, boat rocking gently somewhere in the middle of the Adriatic sea. He groans as he sits up, pain shooting down his left arm and his right leg.

“Shit. Fuck.” The _one_ _time_ he fucking needed to die and he _doesn’t_. He tries to stand but the wound on his leg is still bleeding sluggishly and he staggers. He drags himself over to the railing going along the outside of the captain’s cabin and hoists himself up unsteadily. He limps inside and rummages for the first aid kit in the cupboards. The box is sparse, it’s not going to be nearly enough but if he can stop the bleeding then it won’t matter much soon. He takes the box and drags himself over to one of the chairs settled around the cabin.

The pirates can’t be far and from what he can tell, they took those alive with them seeind as the boat is empty. Well, not exactly empty. Dead bodies are inevitable and most of them strewn around the deck are the from the pirate crew. He scans briefly over the area and goes back to the medical supplies, deciding to deal with the wounds first.

He takes one of the bandage rolls and two of the sanitary gauze pads. He winces as he tears off a long strip of his shirt hem that he’ll need because the motion pulls at the graze wound on his bicep. He cleans out the stab wound on his leg with some of the alcohol and then places one of the pads over it. He has to stop the bleeding fast. He goes through the motions of fashioning a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, the operation familiar in a grim way. He puts the rolled up bandage over the gauze pad on his leg, putting pressure on it while using the strip of fabric to tie around the roll. He rinses the wound on his upper arm with some rainwater next before cleaning it out with the alcohol as well. The bullet had just grazed him but realistically, the wound needs stitches. For now, though, the gauze will have do. He laments the lack of medical tape in the first aid box but he’s going to be fine with what he has. He’ll eventually just _reset_ his body but he needs to get Kyle first.

He doesn’t know where they went and he can't exactly _ask_ – _well_ , maybe he _can_. But it’s risky and even if he _can_ bring one of the pirates back to life there’s no guarantee that they’ll be willing to tell him anything. He shakes his head, no, he’d need to die to accomplish that as well and he can’t afford to wake up in the middle of wherever Kyle is, unarmed and unprepared. He can’t risk getting captured right now and he knows that Death won’t do him a solid, that’s for sure. But.

 _But._ If he _does_ die and there are still spirits lingering then he can interrogate them and maybe if he barters with Death, they’ll relent and allow him to wake up where he is now. But that would just leave him stranded again. And if he just _appears_ next to Kyle all of a sudden then he’s risking harm to them all. He can’t take that risk, harming Kyle in the process of his rescue is something he’d never forgive himself. And what’s left of the fishing boat’s crew, they should be included in that as well. 

He searches for his phone but it’s been shot to hell since he got doused in rain and seawater. He curses and tries the ship’s radio. If he’s close to any nearby ships – he hesitates just short of the receiver. If its reach is wide enough then maybe he’s close to the pirate ship as well and he can’t have them hearing that he’s still alive.

“Fucking hell.” He curses and decides that the best course of action for now is searching the bodies for any clues he can find. It’s an undignified and disrespectful act that he never enjoys but he needs to find Kyle and these bodies on deck is all that he has to go off of.

Their identifications are non-existent.  Apart from the patches on their black uniforms there is nothing to identify any of them. And even those aren’t names but, as far as Kenny can tell, words in Italian. Maybe not even that, he doesn’t know which fucking language that is and he feels like a fucking dumbass.

He piles all the bodies into one of the pools on the side of the ship that’s shadowed by wooden crates to avoid _incidents_ and _smells_ with the corpses. By Kenny’s count there are nine in total, two of them the fishermen and the rest pirates. He’s sure some of them went overboard during the fight but he can’t do much about those. That means that they took three fishermen, the captain and Kyle as prisoners.   

The sun beats down on him, the open sea calm now that the storm has passed. The gulls that follow the fishing boat are still amiss though, and Kenny wishes he could see _some_ other life form out here. Just to feel less alone if nothing else.

It’s been a while since he’d been on his own like this; since he had to fix things by himself. Even when they were kids it was always the four of them, he always had someone ( _Kyle_ ) to watch his back. His leg is throbbing and his arm aches like hell but he can’t rest, he has to think about what he’s going to do.

Presumably, they’d taken the fuel and all the reserve tankers like they said they would. He has no way of getting the ship moving. There are no sails and no fabrics that he could use, only the cranes and the nets that are drawn back.

He eyes the radio again and then calculates the risks. It was storming pretty badly but the pirate ship couldn’t have gotten far. If only Kenny could start this piece of junk then maybe he could catch up and save Kyle –

A groan sounds from the pool of dead bodies and he jolts hard enough that a sharp bolt of pain goes through his entire side. Hissing and limping, he drags himself down to the pool and waits for the sound again. Eventually, one of the pirates crawls out from the pile gasping in shock and pain. He watches the man struggle to catch his breath and then writhe in agony for a bit before he jumps down and kicks the man over onto his back to get a closer look.

The man stares at him as if he’s seeing death itself.

And he probably looks like it, too. He’d glanced at the mirror in the small bathroom earlier; he definitely didn’t make a pretty sight. He’s covered in blood and his hair is matted with it, there’s a thin gash bisecting his eyebrow and tugging down his cheek that looks gnarly. He looks like he’d been chewed up and spit out. The man must be terrified.  

The pirate starts babbling something in Italian, frantic and stuttering – half formed sentences of a man that knows his fate. Regrets spilling along with his blood.  

“ _Per favore-”_ The man sobs loudly, “ _A – aiutami... per favore!”_

Kenny’s face hardens further as the man tries to backpedal away. He jumps down and stalks forward, presses a foot to the middle of the guy’s chest to stop him. The man cries out in pain and Kenny presses harder until he settles down again.

“Where did they take them?” He growls, grasping at the only thread of hope he has now. This is the only clue he has; he needs to know where to go and how to save Kyle.

“ _R – risparmiami! Per favore!”_ The pirate wails with desperation clear in his tone and Kenny can probably guess what the words mean. He can see the plea in the man’s cloudy eyes, the will to live and the wish for mercy. Too bad Kenny isn’t feeling particularly merciful at the moment.

“No, I don’t think I’m willing to help. I’m not feeling very benevolent.” He steps back and then grips the man’s bulletproof vest, using it to drag him to the boat’s railing. He presses the whimpering man between the bars and dangles him over the edge. “Tell me where they are!” He demands again, shaking the man for effect.

“ _Non lo so!_ No! Do not know!” The man yells out, struggling against Kenny’s hold. “Please!”

“Where’s your base? Where is the boat docked?!” He grips the back of the man’s neck, pushing him towards the water.

“Please!” The man shouts again and Kenny catches movement in the water with the corner of his eye. The color is too shimmery to be any sort of shark and he’s pretty sure there were scales and _something_ else there as well.

“Tell me and I won’t kill you.” He says, trying not to seem as if he’s watching the water.

“J-just off the coast of Lesina Marina! Further down towards the Eden wreck.” The man comes up with a surprisingly eloquent sentence and Kenny smirks. He pulls the man back and shoves him towards the hole again. “Stay.” He commands and then turns back to the water.

He peers into the crystal clear blue until he sees what he’d been looking for. _Figures,_ he thinks with a grin.

“Hi there!” He waves, trying to seem friendly. Now _this_ is his last chance at getting out of here, off this damn boat.

A beautiful array of opalescent scales meets the surface before pale skin follows it. His grin broadens as the siren bares its sharp teeth at him in warning. Her hair is dark and her eyes huge and sparkling blue; she’s every bit of the creature from the legends as he’d imagined.

“Fuck yeah,” He cheers silently. “Hi! I was wondering if you could help me.”

The siren spits something out in a guttural tongue and then bares her teeth again. “Why should I help you, boy?”

“Uh, I dunno, because I’ll ask _really_ nicely? Because you gain nothing if you kill me?” He ventures down to the part of the ship closest to the water and holds out a hand, trusting her not to pull him into the water and risking it big time.

She sniffs at the hand and then licks at one of his cuts. She recoils with a yowl, eyes turning an alarming red before fading to blue again. “ _The_ _undying_.” She growls and he snorts.

“Trust me, there’s _been_ dying just not the _staying_ dead part.” He hopes his grin is charming enough to placate her.

“What do you require?” She tilts her head, arms with webbed fingers waving lazily through the water.

“I need a ride to the _Lesina Marina_ area, near the _Eden_ wreckage.” He bats his eyelashes and leans onto the edge of the ship, one hand trailing left and right in the water coyly.

“Your boat does not work?” She squints at him and then he finds himself with a face full of wet hair as she peers over the edge and into the pools where the pirate is staring wide-eyed at her.

“We got into some trouble. The pirates stole our fuel and stole my – uh, friend and the crew of this ship. I can’t contact anyone who can help.” He explains, sliding back until he’s sitting on the deck and away from her sharp claws.

“You’re hurt.” She pokes his cheek and he winces minutely.

“Yes, I tried to fight them but there were too many. They thought I died so they left me behind with the rest of the bodies.” He sighs running a thumb over the edge of the compress for the thigh wound. He should take the bandage roll and tourniquet off now, the bleeding’s probably stopped and at this point it’s bothering him a little.

“Admirable. For a single man, nay, _boy_ to take on a battalion of trained _pirates_.” She smiles but it just looks frightening to him. He ignores the chills running up his spine from the encounter and just laughs uneasily.

“I’ve had my fair share of fights.” He shrugs and turns to lean against the rail. “I can’t offer you much in return aside from these dead bodies and that guy over there but I’m hoping you’ll be willing to help out anyway.”

“The bodies and the man should be payment enough.” She nods her head. “The choir will be well fed indeed.” She taps her nails along the deck, licking her lips as the remaining pirate cowers in fear. “If you can arrange for a smaller vessel I can call some of my sisters to help.”

“There’s a lifeboat in the back, that good?” He stands up and limps over to the man that had started praying to whichever god’s listening in the meantime. It may be cruel but Kenny never _was_ a hero. It is what needs to be done and the price for Kyle's survival must be paid. He grabs the man again and shoves him towards the siren who grasps his face in her hands, staring deeply into the man’s eyes.

She kisses him then and shoves him into the water where several other hands grab him and pull him under. It’s a grim world they live in but better the criminal than Kyle and the rest of the fishermen. He goes along with tossing out the other bodies, ignoring the grinning sirens that catch them and the one still reclined over the side of the boat observing him with an unnervingly steady gaze.

“I thank you...” She squints up at him and he grunts.

“Kenny.”

“I thank you greatly for this feast, Kenny. We shall escort you towards the ship now if you’d like.” She wiggles back into the water and lands with a small splash.

“Yeah, well. I don’t like what happened here but – I don’t know. It’s a moral gray area, I’d rather you didn’t thank me.” He takes off the scrap of cloth and runs the bandage roll around the patch for better protection of the wound.

“As you wish, but – better they get eaten and feed an entire choir than rot in the sun out here.” She says with an air of arrogance only a predator can have.

He doesn’t respond and instead takes one of the hunting knives he’d pilfered from the body, their suitcase, and a gun with him to the lifeboat. He lowers it carefully and jumps in, paddling away from the fishing boat and into the open water where he waits.

“Hang tight, boy, there is quite the swim ahead.” The siren turns to her three sisters and groans out something in their tongue. The three nod and they separate, two on each side.

The movement is slow at first, they’re sailing like there is a propeller turned on the lowest speed trapped to the back of the boat. But the speed soon picks up and the sun starts going down and Kenny is losing himself in the fresh salty air that’s hitting his face as they glide across the sea. The velocity is frankly horrifying and thankfully Kenny isn’t afraid of dying otherwise he would have shat his pants.

By the time they approach the big, modern-looking pirate ship the sun is kissing the horizon like it’s a gentle lover. Kenny tries not to be too poetic about it but the colors of the scene remind him so viscerally of Kyle that he feels it rattle his insides. Pathetic.

The sirens stop short of the ship, a little further off than he would have liked but close enough that he can swim over to it. He jumps into the water and the siren that’s talked to him says something to her sisters, sending them scattering and circling the ship.  She turns to him and smiles, still fucking terrifying as ever.

“Kenny the Undying, this is a noble journey you are on.” She states, eyes brimming with something that might be awe and might also be pity for his foolishness.

“Entirely for selfish reasons, believe me.” He waves his hands around, staying afloat but being dragged down by the powerful strokes of her tail.

“Nonsense.” She snorts and then one of her sisters pokes her head out of the water, saying something in their gruff language.

“I see,” The siren nods and turns to him again. “There are intake vents in the ship’s hull. They have tanks filled with water as the big ships usually do because they have a big cargo hold. Damn ballast water discharge.” She spits briefly, angry at the possibility of pollution due to invading species. Or, whatever, not like Kenny would know.

“Think I can make it without drowning?” He smirks listlessly, humourlessly.

“If you kiss me you might.” She grabs his face and not-unlike with the pirate from before stares deep into his eyes. Her own are a mess of shifting hues ranging from the darkest blue to the almost white-sky color, iris ringed red.

“That’s true, then? A kiss from a siren and you’re able to breathe underwater?” He feels her cold fingers grip a little harder, tugging at the cut, as she rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“Only from the head of the choir.” She responds, a little annoyed at his ignorance. Well, it’s not like he knows better.

“Which happens to be you?” He says sagely, schooling his expression back into seriousness.

“Of course.” She says haughtily, bringing her bare chest out of the water to smack it with a proud fist that returns to his face as soon as it’s left it.

“Alright, plant one on me then!” He puckers up and she, unexpectedly (because that is _not_ what she did with the pirate) presses against his mouth firmly, pushing her tongue past his lips. All things considered, not the worst kiss he’s had – that title still belongs to Clyde, freshman year, who puked on him right after because he got scared he’d ‘ _caught the gay’_.

“That it?” He grins mischievously as she licks her lips, sharp teeth tugging at her bottom lip dangerously.

“Do not tempt me, boy. I might not pass up on the opportunity.” She flicks him on the forehead with an oddly human-like gesture and then backs away. “Good luck, Kenny the Undying.”

He watches them dive and then disappear into the depths like they were never there at all. He takes a deep breath and then follows their lead, except heading towards the big ship this time.

He’s not risking running out of air, though so he gulps some before diving. He does, however, have human lungs and runs out of it pretty fast. There’s a terrifying moment where he takes in water and he expects to drown, mourning the loss of time in which he could be saving Kyle, but then nothing happens. His lungs stop working and the need for breathing ceases. He blinks the salt out of his eyes rapidly and propels himself forward to where he can see the openings in the hull.

He wiggles his way inside and finds himself in a space between the outer hull and the inner walls that board the cargo hold off from the space meant for water. It’s narrow but wide enough for him to swim upwards to where the emergency hatch is. He twists the valve open and pushes the hatch up, praying that there is no one on the other side but prepared to act if there is.

The little service hall he emerges into is dark and dim, there’s no – _oh, shit_. In the seconds that it takes him to climb up onto dry land again he realizes something crucial. In his rush to _save Kyle, get Kyle, protect Kyle_ , he’s forgotten to come up with a contingency plan or even an escape plan. He’s going in totally blind. He hadn’t taken the time to question the pirate on the boat further and he has no idea how many men there are still on board. He doesn’t know where the prisoners are being kept. He has no idea what he’s supposed to be preparing for either.

Fear, sickening and creeping up on him for the first time in a while. Fear, not for himself but for Kyle.

 _If we get out of this one, you’re gonna tell him how you feel, Kenneth McCormick._ He decides, firmly – or, going for firm since he doesn’t really know what will happen in the near future. Though, there’s no way he’s letting Kyle die without Kenny telling him how he feels first. Even if this poor attempt at a rescue fails, he’ll find Kyle and tell him, he owes him that much. Because Kyle doesn’t come back even if Kenny will. He takes a deep breath and pulls out the knife from the makeshift holster at his belt. He turns the handle over in his hand until it fits into his palm like it was made for him. He grips it and moves forward.

* * *

 

It oddly takes a long time before he comes across anyone. He spots a guard, the man armed to the teeth and stoic as he shuffles in front of a room that looks important enough since it warrants guarding in the first place. They’re not expecting him or there would be more people stationed here. He has the element of surprise on his side, then. And he’ll make sure to use it well.

He crouches low, he’d discarded his shoes a couple of hallways back because they were wet and uncomfortable and making those _schlep_ noises that he hates.  He moves silently without them, rolling his steps. He stays out of the man’s periphery and rolls across the hall, staying quiet. He creeps up on the man in a way that should embarrass all guards everywhere because all the man _really_ needed to do was _look down_ and he’d have see Kenny’s crouched form. But the man is assured, relaxed, unassuming and doesn’t see the knife glinting until it’s too late and it’s buried in the side of his neck. The man gurgles, blood dripping out of his mouth and Kenny lowers him to the floor gently, grimacing at the mess.

He sheds his wet clothes and pulls on the man’s shirt, bulletproof vest and his trousers that are just a little bit too long for him. He cuts the pants off at the bottom hem until they’re above his calves, not obstructing his ankles or preventing stealthy movement. He takes the man’s security card and opens the door.

He breathes out steadily when he sees that the room is filled with weapons; guns, knives, explosives of all kinds. It’s entirely too high-tech and too advanced for ordinary pirates. Something here doesn’t add up and Kenny will need to have a word with the fishing boat captain. But for now, he picks up the explosives and weighs the C4 in his hand, contemplating what to do.

The answer is obvious; he should blow the ship up. He takes as much as he can and retraces his steps, putting the explosives at random spots that seem vital to the ship’s hull. He even drops one down the hatch he came from.

He picks up a few more and pockets the detonator, dropping it into one of the many pockets of the dark cargo pants that are very cliché bad-guy. He scrunches up his nose at the blood he steps in when he exits the room again and wipes his foot off on the dead guy. He looks at the guy again. Well, he can’t afford to leave clues. He takes a bit of time to drag the body into the room before closing the door. Nothing to be done about the blood now.

He moves forward down the hall and into a doorway to the right. He stops in his tracks when he hears a voice coming from up the staircase he was about to climb. He hides behind it, in the shadows cast by a poorly placed light that’s flickering and waits. There is a man descending the stairs, speaking over the in-ear communicator they have implemented with someone and they’re laughing easily – unsuspecting. The man stomps down the stairs and heads for the hallway that Kenny had just come from – had left a mess in. He follows the man silently and waits for the conversation to end. A couple of steps and the man finally signs off, in time to round the corner and see the missing guard and the puddle of blood.

The pirate makes an inquisitive, alarmed, noise. His hand is reaching up for the device in his ear immediately but Kenny is faster and he grips the hand by the wrist before bringing the knife to the man’s throat in an obvious threat.

“Not a sound.” He hisses silently as the man goes still in his hold, petrified. “Answer and I let you live, understood?” _Lies_. It’s all _lies_. He’s lying through his teeth but he can’t – he can’t let Kyle die. These faceless nobodies might have families but _Kyle_ is _his_ family, he’d kill and die for him. Has done both by this point. The man nods, a whimper escaping his throat and Kenny growls in warning.

“Where are you keeping the prisoners?” He asks, bringing the man’s hand back around and twisting it so that the pirate doesn’t try anything funny. He’s close enough to keep in control of the situation but far enough that the man can’t escape without getting seriously injured.

“Up – upper deck.” The man, again surprisingly eloquent for someone who supposedly doesn’t speak English. “They’re in the captain’s cabin.”

“Close to the control room?” He asks, trying to mentally go over how many levels this boat has. The man nods again and Kyle hums. “They’re all alive?”

“Yes, one of them injured but they’re alive.” The man is oddly calm for someone who has a knife pressed to his throat. Kenny is getting _very_ suspicious.

“Excellent. Thank you for your cooperation.” He says grimly and then pulls the knife, slicing through flesh like slicing through bread. Not a benevolent God, never that.

The man drops down to the ground bleeding out. He looks at him calmly, feeling like he’s having an outer body experience. He should feel remorse, should feel _something_ about what he’s doing – but he feels nothing, he’s empty. He’ll beat himself over it eventually, but not now. Not when lives are at stake. He takes the com out and puts it in his own ear, tuning it into the frequency they use to pick up conversation. The pirates chatter among themselves in various languages and Kenny picks up the odd English word that he can’t connect to anything else. Still, he stays cautious, it never hurts to be careful.

 _Yeah, too late for that now, Ken._ A voice that sounds suspiciously like Kyle's echoes from the depth of his mind and he shakes his head, not needing the ‘ _I told you so’_ just yet.

He goes back to the stairs and it leads him to another level. By his calculations and by what he’s seen, there are four levels above the hull and then on the inside there are at least five. And he’s risen up two levels by now, three more left. He traipses the hallways carefully, making sure there are no staggering pirates where there should be none. Another level up, he comes across an entrance to the cargo hold and he uses the card to enter without a second thought.

There are boxes, wooden crates, stacked along the lower levels of the cargo hold that look familiar. There aren’t many of them and most of the hold is empty so he jumps onto the closest stack and hangs upside down to see what’s written on the side. It appears as though someone had overwritten something that was underneath and did a poor job at it. Whatever is in there, some of the crates used to be on the fishing boat – especially the smaller ones. He tutts and climbs back u to the level he was on before, continuing his search. Foolishly, he thinks that his little detour had gone unnoticed.

The com buzzes and he freezes.

Time’s up. He took too long. This is a direct message, he’ll answer and then someone will say something in a language he doesn’t understand and then the jig will be up. He closes his eyes and prepares for a speedrun up all the stairs and into the captain’s quarters.

He clicks the com on.

“ _Simmons! What the fuck is Jenkins doing in the cargo hold? Isn’t he supposed to be with Rumlow by now?”_ Surprisingly clear and understandable, albeit accented, English comes through the tiny speaker and Kenny breathes out. Then he curses himself for foolishly thinking they couldn’t see which card accesses which door at any given time. Too bad his own voice is nowhere near the man’s so the jig is still up.

He lowers his tone and growls at the comm. “I’m afraid Jenkins and Simmons are unavailable at the moment.”

“ _Who the fuck is this? Where did you get – what-”_ The woman on the other side of the line stutters in confusion then hisses back at him. “ _Who are you!?”_

“I can tell you who I’m not. I’m not a benevolent creature. And you’ve taken something precious to me. And now you’re going to die trying to keep me from it.” He moves out of the room, dropping the card because they can only use it against him now. 

“ _Stay- stay out of the cargo_!” She yells frantically to the side in a different language and there’s the sound of an alarm going off briefly, alerting everyone of an emergency.

“You best not try and stop me. Lest you lose more men.” He presses the tiny button to cut off the line and he drops the device as well. He ties up his hair with the band that’s always around his wrist and cracks his shoulder joints, pops his knuckles.

He looks around and surveys all of the nooks and crannies, the hallways are all almost identical and he throws one of the C4 charges into the hold before proceeding to the upper level.

Foolishly they think three men can detain him in the narrow hallway they all find themselves in.

The first man rushes at him with a gun, shooting and missing because Kenny is barefoot and uses the surroundings to his advantage. He bounces off the wall and shoves the knife into the man’s windpipe. He uses the spasming body as a meat shield as the other two try and fire. He wrenches the limp man around and uses the grip on the gun he still holds to shoot the first guy in the chest three times. He drops the body and rolls forward, lunging for the man’s knees and stabbing through a kneecap, incapacitating the man. The pirate kicks his knife away but Kenny manages a good hold on his hand – the one with the gun in it. They struggle, his muscles straining against the other’s considerable bulk. But then he slips past the defensive guard and smacks his fist against the man’s throat, causing him to choke and lose the grip on the gun. He overtakes the weapon and ends it with a bullet to the man’s head, a swift execution.

Their communicators are going off like crazy and Kenny limps his way past the dead bodies, taking one of the guns and one of the mags with him, putting the knife through one of the beltloops. He winces as the wound on his bicep opens up again but he doesn’t have time to pause and wallow in his own pain. He has to keep moving.

There are surely more men dispatched and Kenny needs to get up to the surface levels if he’s to get anywhere at all. He tracks blood wherever he goes and drops some of the charges along the way too.

He gets ambushed coming to surface but he expects this. The knife he has is wrenched into the man who had foolishly tried to grab him and then he’s throwing the injured pirate onto his buddy before shooting them both. There’s more shouting and the moon is full, the breeze chilling his bones.

He gets a punch to the face that cracks his nose and he yelps, bending backwards and dropping down as the man tries to follow up with an uppercut. He brings his hands forward and shoots, the man goes down. Rinse and repeat. Two, three, four; nine in total and probably eight or so more hiding somewhere. The kill count keeps rising.

He hates this, hates that he has to do this, hates that Kyle will ask and that he’ll tell him because he can’t lie to Kyle – not when it matters, at least.

His hand is bloody, the one holding the knife. He must have cut himself at some point. The gun’s mag is empty and he replaces it with a fresh one. He holds it up and shoots, misses, his eyes are growing hazy. Maybe he’s lost more blood than he thought; maybe he got a sunstroke back on that damn boat. He’s definitely dehydrated, he knows that much.

He ducks under a flying knife and shoots again, hits the target. They’re coming from everywhere now, probably roused from sleep because they’re wholly unprepared for the mayhem that Kenny is causing. He’s a one-man army, unstoppable, destructive. He shakes off the haze and takes the thirst and quenches it with blood instead of water. He stabs, shoots, chokes, stabs again until he gets to the control room where the captain and the woman who was on the communicator stand, both pointing guns at him, both terrified.

He grins at them, spitting blood, and wiping under his nose with a wet shirt that does little to dry the mess on his face. He’s sweaty and filthy and still barefoot. He scrunches up his face and winces when his nose throbs.

“We’re not giving the drive over!” The captain shouts, angry and frantic because he’d just witnessed his entire crew get mowed down by a nineteen-year-old who happened to be immortal and used to be a vigilante back home in his free time. Not that they knew that. But still.

“What are you talking about, _dude_.” He waves the gun he’s holding around, tired beyond belief. “I don’t fucking care about whatever the fuck is going on here. I came to get Kyle.”

“K-Kyle?” The captain lowers his gun a little, confused.

“The mouthy redhead?” The woman questions with disbelief clear in her voice.

“Yes the mouthy redhead, the firecracker, the love of my life. Whatever. I’m going to go save him and you do whatever the fuck you want to do but don’t fucking try and stop me. Understood?” He aims the gun menacingly and the captain snaps to attention.

“You just want the – the boy?” The captain looks like he’s having a hard time coming to terms with what’s going on. “You just – you just slaughtered the entire crew. And for what? For your _boyfriend?!”_ The man growls, enraged as he finally realizes what’s happened.

“Well, you know, _crush._ ” He smiles at the man’s outraged scream. “Love makes you crazy, my dude. You should try it sometimes.” He’s lying again. Nobody should be this in love, this dedicated, it’s unhealthy but he’s aware. He’s also lying when he says that he’s only here for Kyle because he does still plan on blowing the ship up after he gets him and the fishing crew out.

“Go. Get him and get off the ship any way you can. Leave us be, _Demon_.” The woman spits angrily and he mock-salutes, turning on his heel and climbing the last flight of stairs towards the captain’s quarters.

He slams through the door and finds the crew of the fishing boat staring at him in fright. The captain looks on with an annoyed gaze while he seeks out Kyle’s eyes that are so green Kenny almost has a stroke.

He smiles at Kyle dopily, letting the gun drop and stumbling forward. He knows he looks like a nightmare but he can’t help that now. He can, however, help Kyle out of this bind.

“Sorry I’m late, the traffic was terrible.” He croaks out, throat parched and Kyle keels over into his hold, gagged and bound and tearing up at the sight of him. He hates the scared look in the other’s eyes so damn much.

He cuts the captain’s zipties first and she nods gratefully, removing the tape from her mouth and going to pick up the gun that he’d dropped, checking the mag for bullets while he deals with the rest, purposely leaving Kyle for last because he’ll want a strong hug to settle his nerves and they need to be fast.

Finally, after what seems like too long, he cuts the ties binding Kyle's legs and arms and tugs off the tape across his mouth. Kyle doesn’t say anything but his limbs do encase Kenny into a vice-like grip. He stiffens as the bruises and open wounds are pressed against but he endures it, takes in the scent of Kyle's shampoo and the detergent they’d used at Red’s apartment.

“Kenny.” Kyle groans out and Kenny pats his back reassuringly with his good arm.

“This is great and all but we must go. If they find out that you’re here they’ll-” She stops, looking out the window and over the deck of the ship where there are bodies strewn all over. “What.”

He peels away from Kyle and helps him stand up, the redhead seems unable to let go of him. The light in the room is dim that they hadn’t seen him but then she presses the switches next to the door and all the lights come on and her jaw drops.

“Only the captain and the lieutenant are left.” He says grimly, weakly waving the hand with the knife around. “The rest are – yeah.”

“Who are you?! Who are you working for?” One of the crewmen advances with a hand going for his throat and he reacts. He pushes Kyle behind himself and with the same hand grips the man’s wrist, tugging him towards himself and then pressing a knife under his chin.

“How about _you_ answer that question? Because from what I’ve seen, these aren’t pirates and this is more than a simple fuel run.” He growls, looking at the captain intently.

“I work for the Spanish government.” She says, solemn and refined, posture straight. “We were transporting sensitive data on a secure USB drive. The _pirates_ work as contractors, mercenaries. Some with military backgrounds and some not.” She struggles for a moment like she’s not sure how to form the sentence. “They think the drive is in one of the crates but it’s not.” She says meaningfully and Kenny really doesn’t want to know where it is.

He nods. “They were hired. Okay. Makes sense. Anyway. We have to get out of here. Can you, by any chance, fly a helicopter?” He releases the man and the captain nods. The,  the _agents_ he supposes, all line up as Kenny bestows a pieces of weaponry to some of them. He doesn’t have the strength to keep fighting, he finally got back to Kyle and he’s fine now. He’s good. All the fighting spirit is leaving him.

He grips Kyle's hand and prays that the redhead doesn’t ask questions. Instead he talks with the captain as they climb the last flight of stairs to where the helipad is. He’s about to ask about the cargo when he hears a voice call for him. A very familiar voice that he hadn’t thought he’d hear again.

“Wait by the copter,” He instructs them and then jogs down three flights before vaulting over the last railing and hitting the deck with a pained hiss. He leans over and grins at the siren waving up at him. He can barely make her form out from the darkness and the light pouring over the edge of the ship isn’t helping much either. Still, the swirling of her tail is unmistakeable.  

“What’s up, milady?” He leans onto one elbow humorously.

“You left your case, Kenny the Undying. I could not let you go without it! I was going to call earlier but you seemed... busy.” She’s grinning back at him and he hopes he gets to see her again sometime in the future.

“Oh, wow. That’s very kind of you, you know, for a creature of the depths.” He sticks out his tongue at her and she rolls her eyes. He braces for the throw and she indeed does manage to throw the suitcase all the way up to the ship with supernatural strength.

“I never did get your name.” He prompts hoping to get something, anything, to remember her by.

Her eyes glint. “Your human tongue cannot form my name, but I suppose to you I would be _Yara._ ” She responds with zest and he nods sagely.

“Well then, Yara of the Depths. It’s been a pleasure.” He places a hand over his heart in a move that he’d seen her sisters do before.

“Indeed it has, Kenny the Undying. Good luck with your boy.” She winks cheekily and then returns the gesture before swimming away.

He turns back to climb the stairs and is startled by green eyes peering at him like they’d seen a ghost.

“Wh – how long have you been here? Didn’t I tell you to stay at the helipad?!” He hisses, shoving the suitcase at Kyle automatically, like there’s nothing wrong at all.

“Last time you told me to wait for you, I got kidnapped.” Kyle says back, voice barely above a whisper. Kenny sighs and tugs him into a brief embrace, pressing his forehead against Kyle's.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Kyle.” He feels the tears gathering but doesn’t let them fall, no time for that yet.

“I know, Ken.” Kyle gulps and together they get to the helipad.

They’re a fair bit off and away from the ship when Kenny remembers the charges and pulls out the detonator. They’re still in range and Kyle looks at him. For the briefest moment Kenny thinks about the men taking Kyle hostage. No questions asked, just a civilian caught in the crossfire, who knows where Kyle could have ended. He presses the button. The ship detonates behind them, one by one the charges going off and the people in the helicopter startle at the lightshow. _Covering the tracks is important,_ he tells himself uselessly.

“They’ll think the drive was destroyed.” He says, throwing the detonator out of the window. “Make sure you dispose of the helicopter once we land.”

“The helicopter, _Sikorsky S-61R,_ good for air travel. It will get us to our destination without trouble.” The captain shouts over the noise and the crew nods. Well, he supposes they’re not really seamen. God, he’s so tired.

“Ken, you lost a lot of blood didn’t you.” Kyle grips his wrist, thumb tracing over it delicately.

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugs. “I need a hard reset.” He grins at Kyle's grimace.

“Not – not yet, please. Don’t leave me yet, Ken.” The redhead pleads with such sincerity that Kenny can only nod dumbly. He’ll stick around for the other’s sake then, since the redhead asked so nicely.

He drifts in and out of consciousness for the rest of the flight.

* * *

They land just outside of Barcelona and Kenny can’t help but feel like he’s back at it with Kyle by his side and that they’re continuing their _Eurotrip._ Well, maybe that’s not far off from the truth. It _has_ only been two days since the whole mess went down and Kyle was back to being bitchy about Kenny never listening to him.

“I’m just saying, if we had gone to Split like we had intended to – none of this would have caught us and you wouldn’t be needing this blood transfusion right now.” Kyle slaps his hand away as he tries to fiddle with where the IV is hooked into his arm.

They’re set up in a little cottage by an olive grove that has the necessary medical supplies and weaponry. Kenny suspects it’s a safehouse of a sort for whatever organization these people are with.

“Yes, Kyley, sweetie, and _I’m_ sure something else would have gotten us in the end anyway. Maybe some Greek myth, the minotaur if we went to Crete for sure.” He grunts in response, glad that they are back and that Kyle has managed to shake off whatever had been bothering him. And something _had_ been there, Kenny knows. Kyle had been too quiet, too silent and hadn’t protested at all when they were ushered out of the chopper and into the quaint cottage. It was probably the aftermath of the kidnapping but – Kenny is doubtful. This isn’t by far the worst thing Kyle had been through, he shouldn’t have been shaken by it.

Maybe it was seeing the carnage Kenny had left behind him on the deck in his wake.

But _that_ thought kills Kenny on the inside more than any other ever has. That Kyle was _disgusted_ by him now that he’s seen what Kenny was capable of, seen what Kenny was _willing_ to do when necessary, murdered every little sense of self Kenny has ever had.

“That may be, but.” Kyle cuts himself off, grimacing at what were going to be his next words and Kenny sneers.

“Come, now, Kyle. In all the time we’ve known each other, you were never the one to hold back. Out with it, dickwad.” He demands, preparing himself for the inevitable.

Kyle squints back at him, arms crossed over his chest. “Maybe people wouldn’t have died if we’d gone there.”

“You mean maybe _I_ wouldn’t have slaughtered them all if we’d gone to Split?” He grins sharply, refusing to let the hurt show on his face. “Newsflash, Kyle, people would have died no matter what. It’s just that they would have gotten away with it _and_ with the information on that drive.”

Kyle's gaze hardens further. “You don’t even know what’s on the drive.”

“The formulae for a few very important cures to some deadly diseases.” The captain, _Sofia_ as she’d introduced herself, enters the room. “Excuse the intrusion but you two are very loud.” She comes to stand beside Kenny and tugs out the IV that’s dripped its course.

“Why were they after it?” He asks the same time Kyle demands to know the diseases.

She looks at the redhead first and then, very deliberately, says: “That’s classified information.” Kyle pouts and huffs, standing to fetch Kenny some water instead dignifying her with any sort of response.

“They were after the formulae because they wanted to privatize the cures and in one case turn them into a bio weapon.” She explains as vaguely as she can and Kenny knows that this is for their own safety.

He nods, satisfied that there is at least _some_ good to come out of this whole shebang. He looks over to where Kyle has turned his back to them, fiddling with something that might be his phone.

“I – the country of Spain thanks you, Kenneth McCormick.” It looks like the words pain her to get out and she clears her throat. “If you are ever in need of assistance or – _work –_ you will find an opening with us.” Sofia hands him a black card that he accepts. There’s only a phone number on the card, no writing and no name. It’s very ominous all things considered.

“Thank you – I – I’ll keep that in mind.” He pockets the card and nods at the agent? Captain? Sofia.

“Good. You will be requested for debriefing by the _organization_. We – we need to make sure you won’t talk but we’ll let you be on your way after it is done. _With_ proper compensation, don’t worry.” Sofia smirks and he can’t help but laugh. God, he’s basically a mercenary himself at this point. How the mighty have fallen. He was never the paragon of morality like Stan or the most rational of people like Kyle, but he was sure that he was at least better than _Cartman._ Yet here he is, getting paid for murder.

“When’s the debriefing?” He asks, sitting upright and wincing as his leg throbs. The bullet is still lodged in there and he should probably get it out but at this point, he’s going to die soon so there’s no sense in doing so.

“As soon as the transport arrives to get us; which should be twenty minutes from now.” Sofia turns to Kyle and motions towards Kenny. “Get him up and walking by then.”

Kyle just blinks at her before nodding his assent. Sofia, seemingly satisfied, vacates the room, leaving them in silence once again. The quiet is oppressive, the air warm and the cicadas loud outside. It’s all very bizarre in retrospect.

“Kenny, you know you’re my favourite gremlin but you can’t keep getting yourself in trouble like this.” Kyle sighs, looking at his phone forlornly and taking a photo of Kenny in bed. Whatever the argument that had been brewing between them was, it’s definitely gone now. For the time being, at least.

“I’ll try to be better, Kyle, I promise.” He holds out a hand, battered and bruised, and Kyle takes it. He gives the redhead’s fingers a squeeze and then Kyle tugs him up and out of the bed.

“Come on, we gotta get you operational.” The redhead grins brightly but it’s a little strained around the edges. No doubt about it, there is something Kyle isn’t telling him. And Kenny wants to prod and question but things are tense enough already so he leaves it for now.

“We should head home after this.” Kyle says once they’re outside in the blazing sun.

“What? It’s only been like a month and some change! You didn’t even get to see everything you wanted!” Kenny protests, dreading the return back to their normal lives in their boring and shitty town.

Kyle cuts him across with a look that spells _displeasure_. “I saw more than I ever wanted to see, Kenny. I just want to go home at this point. Back to plain old South Park where – okay maybe not _plain_ , don’t give me that look.” Kyle rolls his eyes at Kenny’s pointed stare. “But – you get the point. South Park is _predictable,_ it’s _safe._ I don’t have secret agents breathing down my neck.”

“Look.” He starts, avoiding Kyle's eyes. “Let’s at least see Barcelona before we go. How about that? I know Spain was on your list so we can see Barcelona and then have them drop us off at Portugal where we’ll catch a plane back home. How’s that sound?”

Kyle looks like he’s going to argue with him but stays silent, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. And that’s possibly even worse.

* * *

They talk to some agent-men in suits that ask them questions about what happened and what they did to warrant their involvement. Kyle tells them his side of the story and Kenny clenches his fists as Kyle describes the rough treatment and thumbs at his wrists where the zipties had cut into the skin. Kenny asks to speak to them alone and ignores the betrayed look Kyle sends him.

And then he tells them the plan, leaves out the sirens that helped, makes up a story about a stash of fuel the supposed pirates had missed. Tells them how he singlehandedly took out the entire crew. The agent-men call his actions commendable and pat him on the back.

He makes arrangements, makes a deal that in two days they will take him and Kyle to Portugal. They agree because they owe him that much. He receives another card, this time _prepaid_ , with money on it for his expanses.   

 “You’re a dick,” Kyle informs him when he leaves the small room and meets the sun-burnt redhead out by an old-looking olive tree.

“I’m sorry.” He responds, shuffling his feet along the dusty ground underneath.

“You keep saying that and you’ll wear it out.” Kyle grunts and hands him his phone so that he can take photos of the grove. It’s a pretty spot; Kenny could see himself settling down in a place like this eventually. Alone or – well, most likely alone and running from the law if he’s being honest.

“Know I mean it every time, Kyle.” He smiles sadly at his companion, his friend, the smart-mouthed menace that had gotten them into trouble more times than they’d all like to admit.

“I wish I didn’t have to say it but our lives are a cosmic joke, have been since childhood. So it’s like – whatever, we’ll get through this.” He shrugs again, trying for casual but Kyle's looking at him like he’s an idiot so maybe he failed.

“Not dying permanently has made you careless, Ken.” Kyle concludes and tugs the backpack that the agent-men had helped them retrieve from the fishing boat onto his back.

“It’s hard to care when it’s all the same.” He says, quiet and contemplative.

The redhead looks at him for a long minute again and then shakes his head. “Come on, let’s get to Barcelona.”

* * *

It’s embarrassingly easy to get back into the groove of travelling and sight-seeing once they’re in the city. Kyle gets swept up by the architecture and history and he marvels at the art of it all and the atmosphere – these people, unaware of what’s happening outside of their own lives. But this speaks volumes about what their lives had been like so far. It’s upsetting that they bounce back like nothing happened.

Well, almost like nothing happened because Kyle keeps _looking_ at him and searching for something with his eyes and Kenny doesn’t know what he’s looking for exactly so he avoids looking back. And that’s a feat considering one part of him is _always_ looking at Kyle.

They visit the _Santa Maria del Mar_ , marvel at the arches and vaulted ceilings. They gape at the fusion of Gothic and _Art Nuoveau_ that is depicted in the structure of _La Sagrada Familia._ They visit the hard-to-pronounce-name hill in the middle of the city and take photos of the beautiful view. They sleep at an apartment that the agent-men had rented for them and eat at a local bistro.

The next day they visit all the tourist-y spots like: Park Guell, the National Museum of Catalan Art (that makes Kenny bust a nut at the Baroque and Renaissance masterpieces displayed there) and Palaca del Rei where they spend a calm moment watching the other (oblivious) tourists and locals. They visit the Pac De la Ciutadella last and gather their bearings there. They get the car they’d been lent and drive it to the airport where Sofia is waiting for them. It’s like nothing happened at all except there’s something missing. Kyle isn’t speaking to him as much as before and Kenny accepts this, doesn’t push the redhead for more.

There is a timidness between them now that wasn’t there before. They don’t touch casually and Kyle only ever offers him his hand when Kenny starts limping from pain that’s still plaguing him. He shouldn’t be moving around at all but he’ll do it for Kyle. He’ll give Kyle one last good memory of him before they have to part ways and Kyle starts ignoring him for what he’d done, disgusted and appalled by Kenny.

They cross into Portugal on an official, government-sanctioned flight without much fuss from anyone. Sofia escorts them to a private exit from the airport at Lisbon.

“Gentlemen,” Sofia salutes them loosely. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“Wish I could say the same.” Kyle grumbles and picks up his suitcase, rolling it away from the men and Sofia.

Kenny shrugs at the retreating back of his friend and smiles at Sofia. “Thanks for the ride. Hopefully, though, we won’t meet again like that.”

“If we ever do meet again, I doubt it will be for any other reason, McCormick.” Sofia puts her sunglasses back on and leaves him to stand there alone.

He sighs and follows Kyle's footsteps until he’s out of the airport and at the bus stop.

* * *

There’s much to see in Lisbon but they spend the majority of their day at St. George’s Castle and its surroundings. Alfama is very beautiful and very quaint and they wander the streets without really stopping for hours. Kenny limps after Kyle that bulldozes through hordes of tourists.

It should be expected by now, that things will go wrong. But Kenny always lets it slip his mind when he’s in Kyle's company. He should be expecting death but he always fucking forgets.

He forgets and it comes back to bite him in the ass.

They’re crossing the street at night, heading towards the motel they’ll be sleeping in, when someone bumps into them. The person mutters something in Portuguese and Kenny grunts an apology back. He’s prepared to move on, continue walking but the man grabs his wrist and next thing he knows there’s a knife in his spleen and he’s being shoved in front of a moving vehicle. Kyle screams and Kenny flies to the side, gritting his teeth and biting back pained shouts. He hits the ground hard, tossed back like a ragdoll. The driver of the van that hit him is yelling. There are people gathering around frantically. He’s pretty sure his leg is broken and his ribs are crack but he doesn’t see Death. This won’t do.

What hurts more than the actual physical pain is what he’s about to ask Kyle to do because his arm might also be broken.

“Kyle.” He gasps and the redhead grips the side of his neck.

“Kenny!” Kyle wails, tears sliding down his cheeks. “Someone call an a-”

“N-no.” He coughs, groaning as his ribs shift around. The left side of his body took the impact, everything is numb and aching lowly, throbbing like it’s about to explode.

“No ambulance.” He says weakly. “They can’t treat me. Kyle you gotta.” He whines as someone starts yelling a little too loudly. “You gotta finish me off, Kyle. Please.”

“Ken- Kenny. What the fuck, Kenny?!” Kyle screams. “You’re asking me-! You can’t be asking what I think you are!!”

“You gotta kill me, Kyle.” He smiles sardonically, tears sliding down his cheeks mixing with the blood pouring down the side of his mouth. “Ky, I’m in a lot of pain right now. My body won’t heal right and I can’t afford a hospital stay. You gotta do me a solid. Please – take the knife – and...” He waves his good hand in the air feebly to mimic slitting his throat. He gurgles for effect, oddly impartial to the horrified look that’s on the redhead’s face.

“I can’t do that, Ken. I can’t kill you. Not when- no. I. I lo-” Kyle breaks off with a painful cry so loud that it rattles Kenny’s broken ribs. He wishes it didn’t have to be this way. He wishes he can – ah, he never got to fulfil his promise to himself, did he?

“I trust you, Ky. You can do it.” He tries to reassure the other but Kyle is not having it.

“What if you don’t come back? What if this is how you die? After all of this...” Kyle's hands spasm as he reaches for the knife.

“Come on, I don’t have the strength. I’ll be okay. I’ll wake up next to you and everything will be fine. I promise.” He smiles, sure that he’s quite the sight.

When Kyle hesitates to pull out the knife Kenny starts getting impatient. “You know it has to be like this, Ky. I’ve been stabbed twice, my face is sliced, the entirety of my left side is broken, my lungs are punctured and my kidney’s failing. Please. Do me the mercy.”

Kyle tugs the knife out swiftly and Kenny doesn’t even feel it at this point. The redhead brings the knife to his carotid, tears falling down onto Kenny’s face. He smiles at the redhead, thinks about telling Kyle but the idea that he’ll wake up next to the other anyway terrifies him. Then again, the thought that this is the last time he’ll ever get to see Kyle makes him want to scream.

“If I don’t come back by some miracle in longer than a week, go through my sketchbook.” Kyle will get it, he’ll understand. “Promise me you’ll wait.”

“I promise, Ken. But – please come back.” Kyle says through tears and hiccups, green eyes murky and so sorrowful that Kenny can’t look at them any longer.

He closes his eyes and waits. Kyle pushes the knife in with an anguished yell and Kenny feels the life draining out of him, bloodying up the street. People around them grow more silent the deader he gets.

“Some balls you have, McCormick.” Death says sarcastically as they look upon the scene.

“Is it permanent?” He asks, observing Kyle scream and trash as the police tries to pry him away from his dead body.

For one terrifying moment, Death is silent. Kenny thinks mournfully about his broken promise and how he’s a fucking coward above all. But then death shakes its head under the hood and Kenny feels both relieved and terrified.

“Not yet.”

It’s both a promise and a warning. Kenny can only nod dumbly and follow the shadowy figure towards the Boatman and the Styx.

“You should tell him.” The Boatman says.

Kenny startles and then scowls. “Mind your fuckin’ business.”

The Boatman’s laugh follows him all the way back to the land of the living.

* * *

The ceiling is familiar, painfully so. He sighs and sits up, looks to the side and sees Kyle sitting there, Kenny’s unopened sketchbook on his lap. The tired, red eyes meet his and Kyle smiles ruefully.

“This another dream?” Kyle asks him and Kenny’s eyebrows twitch upwards into his hairline.

“Dream about me often, Broflovski?” He smirks, climbing to a haunch so that he can lean against the redhead’s knees. He folds his arms over the knobby joints and lays his head on them.

“Ever since you gave me a piece of your soul, Ken.” Kyle admits, voice low and a little slurred with sleep.

“Must be a nightmare, huh?” He closes his eyes as Kyle's hand makes it into his hair.

He yelps, startled when the hand grips instead of strokes. His head is brought up then back and Kyle growls, eyes suddenly very sharp and angry.

“Never, and I mean _never ever,_ ask me to do something like that again. Understood, McCormick?!” Kyle demands.

Kenny nods, stumped by the sudden change of attitude. But it’s to be expected. He did, after all, ask Kyle to kill him. It’s not unreasonable that Kyle is asking to be spared of that experience again. That he is angry.

“I promise.”

“You been promising a lot of shit lately, Ken. It’s been a week.” Kyle releases the death grip he has on his hair and smoothes it back, the curls falling loosely back into place.

“How was your flight?” He ask sheepishly, trying not to show that he’s very much turned on by how Kyle seems to be intent on keeping a hand on him for the moment.

“Well, once they released me from the police station, once they all _forgot_ why I was even there, I managed to catch a ride to the airport and the flight was long and boring.” Kyle shoves the sketchbook to the side and Kenny eyes it warily, wondering if the redhead had gone through it.

“I don’t know what you’re keeping in there but I didn’t look through. Stop looking so terrified it’s giving me flashbacks.” Kyle sighs, scooting forwards so that Kenny is basically kneeling between his spread legs.

It’s amazing that Kyle is willing to touch him at all after all that he’s witnessed during this trip. He frowns, cutting the eye-contact short and stares down at his own hands resting in his lap. There’s no markings on them, no scars and no bruises. His body is as good as new, now wounds no nothing. Kyle still has a scab where the ziptie on his right wrist had cut in deep. He reaches up and thumbs over it, sensing Kyle's pulse jump under his fingers.

“What’re ya’ frowning at now, Ken?” Kyle hushes like he’s afraid to break the serenity of the moment with loud words.

“I killed a lot of people there, Kyle. I don’t know how you can...” He trails off, shrugging. Kyle's smart, he’ll figure the rest out.

“You got us out of there. There was a price to pay. You carry the burden of it well. I know these are just disjointed statements but what I mean is: I get it. I know why you did it and I know you wouldn’t have done it if you had another choice.” Kyle says, as rational as always and irrational anger sparks inside of him.

He grips the hand in his hair and pulls it out, grips the other one as well and meets Kyle's gaze head-on. “Do you? Do you really know? Do you know how terrified I was? I thought they were going to _sell_ you, that they were torturing you just for the fun of it. I thought – Kyle, I thought I’d lost you. The thought drove me mad. I – I killed them all and the only thing going through my head was ‘ _get Kyle’_ , ‘ _save Kyle’_ and ‘ _must rescue Kyle’_. I killed them for _you_ , I killed them because they dared to lay a finger on _you_. I didn’t give a shit about the fishermen and the captain.” He growls, standing up to tower over the seated redhead.

“I killed them because I needed to get to you and I didn’t regret it even once while I was doing it, not really. I might have told myself that I felt bad but I didn’t. I killed them for _you_ and that fucking terrifies me Kyle. It’s heinous and vile and obsessive but I couldn’t let them take you and I never even told you that I-” His throat croaks, eyes wide as he realizes the shit that he’s spewing and that it’s all true. That he’s sick and fucked up and that Kyle needs to get away from him and that he has to let go.

He snaps his hands away, stumbling back, frantic and panicked. Kyle, the fucking idiot that he is, rushes after him. Wide palms engulf his cheeks and Kyle surges forward, smashing their lips together.

The momentum knocks them back into Kyle's desk and pain flares across Kenny’s tailbone but as soon as he gasps from the impact Kyle shoves his tongue into his mouth and Kenny finally gets on with the program. But as soon as he starts kissing back with equal fervour, Kyle pulls away and leaves them both panting and wide-eyed.

Kyle snaps out of it sooner and his eyes grow serious again. Their positions are reversed now, Kyle's taller and he’s pushing Kenny against the desk firmly.

“I know it’s fucked up, Ken. I know what you did but.” Kyle's brows pinch together and he takes a steadying breath. “I – I don’t think I mind. We’ve been through all kinds of crazy shit as kids and this is no different. It’s oddly flattering that you would – uh, _kill_ for me. I.” Kyle clears his throat as a blush rises onto his skin and he puffs out his cheeks. “I appreciate it.”

Kenny thinks that Kyle would have said ‘ _I liked it’_ if he were any less restrained. But as it is, Kyle – Kyle appreciates it. He’s seemingly not disgusted or upset. He _understands_. And he _kissed_ Kenny despite everything and every warning sign, every red flag.

“I love you.” He barks out, loud enough to startle Kyle but quiet enough that no one else hears. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I rescued you but. I choked. I chickened out and I’m such a fucking coward, Kyle. I can’t even tell you how many times I wanted to scream it in your face until you realized. Fuckin’ _Death_ made fun of me for it.” He grips the redhead’s hoodie until his knuckles turn white. “I fuckin’ love your sorry, annoying, ginger ass.” He has to look away from the honest expression on Kyle's face.

“Killing a bunch of people for daring to take me made that pretty obvious, Ken.” Kyle smiles, rueful despite the happy news. “I was waiting to see if you’d go and say it and I was gonna beat your ass if you just kept quiet. Told myself I’d give you until we got back to the States but – yeah.” Kyle's thumbs run over his cheeks gently. “I love you, too, you murderous idiot.”

“Thanks.” Kenny winces as soon as the words leave him and Kyle starts laughing.

“No more killing, yeah?” Kyle leans forward again and this time Kenny is ready for him.

It’s a more delicate kiss than the previous one, less urgent and deeper in every sense of the word. Kyle tastes like toothpaste and Kenny probably tastes like death – all puns intended.

The redhead is surprisingly gentle with him. His hold is loose, like he’s afraid of hurting Kenny. His tongue prods timidly at the seam of Kenny’s lips and Kenny accepts it readily, deepening the kiss yet again. It’s a slow exploration, an exchange of the pining feelings that seemed so stupid just a couple of days ago to Kenny. And to think, Kyle had been at the tips of his fingers all this time.

“What’re you smiling about?” Kyle asks, lips pressed to his cheek, sharing his breaths.

“Was thinking about how you’re an idiot for not saying anything sooner.” He mumbles and Kyle pinches the side of his neck playfully.

“Me? Ken you were always out there being – unattainable. I never thought I had a chance.” Kyle whines a little against the skin where he’d pinched just a moment ago, pressing a kiss there while he’s at it.

“I basically threw myself at you every day, Ky. You’re an idiot.” Kenny’s breath hitches as Kyle _bites_ and _oh,_ _okay._ That’s where this is going apparently.

“You threw yourself at everyone, it’s a personality trait.” Kyle pauses to make sure Kenny knows he doesn’t mean it in a bad way. And okay, maybe Kyle's right – Kenny did indeed do that and he _was_ always the fun and flirty one.

“What, Ky, you jealous?” He teases instead of admitting to his flaws, another personality trait. Kyle's hands find themselves on his hips and they _squeeze_ hard enough that his dick gives a twitch of interest at the pain.

“You have no idea.” Kyle growls and Kenny’s stomach drops down to his soles.

“Well, fuck, then. Got me there.” He tangles his fingers into Kyle's hair as the redhead makes a massacre out of his neck by biting possessive hickeys into it.

“Gonna _have_ you there, and here, and in the changing rooms at that stupid H&M store, and at Stark’s pond and one of the expensive beds in Token’s house.” Kyle's voice is low and the tone, _the words_ , go straight down into Kenny’s dick. _That’s it, here comes the boner._

“Ky, babe, c’mon. Stop gnawing on me unless you want my dick pokin’ at you.” He’s embarrassed that he has to fuckin’ _warn_ Kyle about his boner but he’s always been good about being blunt so it doesn't faze him much.

“Yeah?” Kyle resurfaces, his lips red and his pupils dilated. “Gettin’ hard just like that, huh?”

“Where’d all this confidence come from, Kyley, last I checked you’d only ever slept with one person.” He pokes the ginger in the nose, grimacing and blushing at being left so tongue-tied.

“Hard not to be confident when you’re lookin’ at me like I hung the moon, Ken.” Kyle grins, pearly whites glinting in the lamplight.

“Took you fuckin’ long enough to notice.” He grumbles and Kyle looks at him like he just did something particularly endearing.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle hushes, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “If it means anything, these past few months have been the happiest I’ve been in a while, Ken. And it’s thanks to you.”

Honestly? Kenny feels a little like he might cry. Part of it is from being _very_ turned on and part from being rendered to mush by Kyle's sentimental words.

He gulps down the watery sob that wants to escape his throat and pulls Kyle down into a kiss again. Because that’s something he can do now, something he’s allowed to do. No longer does he have to suppress impulses to show affection or to yell from the rooftops about how much he loves the firecracker redhead.

“You gonna cry, Ken?” Kyle asks because he’s an asshole. But, but there’s nothing mocking about it. He just sounds so damn _fond_ that Kenny’s heart aches.

“What’s it to you, asshole?” He sniffles and burrows his head underneath Kyle's chin, hiding his glossy eyes from the taller.

“Babe, c’mon.” Kyle's arms envelop him in a hug.

“Feels too good to be true, y’know.” He mumbles, hoping Kyle won’t even hear him. But they’re too close together for him not to and the redhead makes a little upset noise in the back of his throat.

“Hey, now. It was gonna happen eventually. We just sped up the process a little.” Kyle croons sweetly and Kenny admires his self-assuredness.

“You promise?” It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid but he’s so helpless to Kyle's wiles and Kyle's soft words. And this right here feels like his wildest fever-dream.

“Yeah. Maybe it’d take us another month, another year or two but. It was always you n’ me, Ken.” Kyle runs his hands along his back and Kenny relaxes into his hold further.

“How can you say that with such certainty?” He can’t help the sceptical part of him rising to surface.

“Because it always felt right. And now I know that _I_ was right whenever I thought that.” Kyle says like he’s the greasiest cheeseball in the universe and now he’s _Kenny’s_ cheeseball.

“God, you’re gross.” He peels himself back so he can look into the other’s eyes.

“Better get used to it, baby. Gonna be spewing all sorts of half-baked nonsense now that I know you’ll listen.” Kyle puckers his lips and smacks a wet kiss onto his nose.

“Dude, Stan’s gonna freak out.” Kenny puts his foot into his mouth just like that, unprompted.

“Ew, don’t talk about Stan while you have a hard-on.” Kyle complains and starts pulling away, letting him go and _no, can’t have that._

“Oooh,” He coos, latching himself onto Kyle and pushing them both back towards the bed until Kyle is sitting down again. He climbs into the other’s lap because _he can_ and sits down onto his thighs.

“But why wouldn’t I?” He teases, running his hands up the other’s torso and clasping them at the back of the redhead’s neck. “God, you know I almost popped a boner when you told me you lost your virginity to him? Jesus, that was too much info for my poor, frustrated mind.” He fake-complains because it’s fun. Because he can be honest with Kyle now, he can tell him all the ways he’s thought about the other now.

Another red flush crawls up the back of Kyle's neck and Kenny can _feel_ the heat of it under his palms. “God, don’t be gross, Kenny.” The redhead spits out, embarrassed and going on the defensive.

He laughs, bright and probably too loud for this time of night. “What? Not into my particular brand of dirty talk? I’ll have you know, _Craig_ was super into telling me what _you_ were gonna be like in bed and he-”

Kyle shuts him up with a commanding kiss, deep and plunging and it makes Kenny’s head spin and his heart start beating double the usual speed. He moans as Kyle bites at his bottom lip with a growl.

“Can’t fuckin’ believe you slept with fuckin’ _Craig Fucker._ ” The redhead hisses out against his mouth. “What a smug fucking bastard.” Kyle continues, nipping at his mouth and trailing kisses along his jaw, back on that _marking him up_ agenda.

“You should see what he’s – ah – packing-” He grins into the air, head thrown back to allow Kyle to do as he pleases.

“God, fuckin’ – can’t believe he got to see you all spread out and fuckin’ ravished before I did.” Kyle complains with a whine, less jealous and more petulant.

“Oh, but who says he did?” He smiles, satisfied, as Kyle pauses in his ministrations.

“Oh?” The redhead’s hands lower from his shoulder blades down to his waist, fingers splayed across his tailbone.

“Mm, you think I’d let Smug Bastard Craig Fucker top me? Like he needs a bigger ego.” He’s particularly proud of that one, of knocking Tucker down a peg in a single night.

“Tweek then.” Kyle bites a bit harder at his collarbone, making sure to leave a red patch there as well.

“Coffee boy watched. Who knew he was into the whole cuck thing, huh?” Kenny spills like this private info is particularly hot tea. “He’s too gentle to really be rough with Craig so they asked for help.”

“Aren’t you generous.” Kyle chuckles, tone huskier than usual due to arousal.

“Call me a saint, Kyley, baby.” His sentence ends with a whine as Kyle thumbs over his nipple over the flimsy shirt he has on. “We doing this or what?”

“Doing what?” He can feel Kyle's grin against his skin and he has half a mind to stand up and walk away. But doing that would make him completely crazy so he stays put and indulges the asshole.

“You, doin’ me. You know. The devil’s tango? The horizontal mambo, the good ol’ roll in the hay-” He chokes on air as Kyle stands up, bringing him with and then deposits him onto the bed on his back. He blinks up rapidly at the redhead who's taking off his sleep shirt.

“Take that as a yes, then.” He hurries out and then frantically takes off his own offending garment, not pausing to stare at Kyle's abs because that would derail this whole thing completely.

Kyle's on him before he can even get to his pants, wide chest pressing into his own and a mouth meeting his. He protests feebly, trying to unzip the damn skinny jeans he has on and fails promptly because Kyle's hands meet the bare skin of his sides. He shudders at the gentle caress and wants to yell at him to hurry the fuck up but he’ll let the redhead have this gentle nonsense for now. They have time.

“Pants off, come on!!” He protests again, whiny and shameless as Kyle does a full-bodied roll and grinds onto him like some pretentious fuckin’ porn star.

“Impatient?” Kyle tries to sound suave but the idiot’s grinning like a, well, _idiot_ so it loses some of its cool factor.

“You bet your sweet, _sweet_ ass I am!” He throws up his hands before re-settling them on the other’s shoulders. “I’ve been waiting for this for-fucking-ever, _Kyle._ Better not disappoint.”

“Oof, high standards, then?” Kyle moves his kisses down his chest, pressing them down light and barely-there.

“Just give me anything and I’ll be grateful.” Kenny admits, entirely too honest for his own liking.

“Hang on, then.” Kyle pulls back and Kenny whines at the loss of warmth but takes the opportunity to pull his pants off as Kyle rummages through the nightstand. The redhead emerges with a bottle of lube and a condom and Kenny shivers in anticipation.

“You sure those aren’t expired?” He teases and Kyle grunts in annoyance, shoving his sweatpants down his hips and joining Kenny back on the bed.

“I’ll have you know, I bought them when we were in Graz while you were running amok gathering shit for our picnic date.” Kyle looks immensely please with himself as Kenny’s face heats up.

“Wasn’t a date, asshole.” He grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He hated being called out on his bullshit.

“Oh, yeah? I mean, I told myself that as well but then you broke into a gallery just to get us somewhere special to eat and I wasn’t so sure anymore. I was trying very hard not to get my hopes up. Should have just told me, you idiot.” Kyle pries his arms apart but doesn’t let go of them. Instead, he pins them to the side of Kenny’s head and laces their hands together.

He feels warmth coil inside his gut like a snake that’s on fire. “You know I did tell you once.” He hums, trying to distract Kyle from trying to pin everything onto him. “But then I died right after and the next day you didn’t remember.”

Kyle's frown is mighty and dissatisfied, probably regretting ever letting Kenny talk during this whole thing. “That ain’t fair, Ken.”

“Listen, Ky, we can go on in-depth about my insecurities or we can fuck. It’s up to you to decide.” He sighs as if put-upon. He hopes Kyle chooses the more pleasurable option.

“We’re gonna have a talk after this, Ken.” Kyle promises him, very intent in his words and Kenny snorts.

“You don’t have to give me _the talk_ , I know how to fuck.” He rethinks it then and comes back with: “ _You_ can talk, I’m gonna have a nap after this.”

Kyle smacks him on the thigh and his dick twitches. He groans at the eyebrow wiggle that gets him from the redhead. He settles back down as Kyle continues staring at him. He’s just about to start complaining again when Kyle opens his mouth.

“Pretty.” Kyle concludes. “Always so pretty, Ken.”

“Fuck off,” He shies away again, unused to being talked to like he’s something precious. He’s usually the one doing the sweet-talking; usually the one calling all the shots. And he’ll eventually do that with Kyle. But not tonight. Tonight he’s adamant to let Kyle lead, do as he pleases with him, _to_ him.

“What? You can talk the talk but not accept it in turn? You know – I kinda lied.” Kyle pauses and Kenny’s blood freezes momentarily before the redhead continues. “I told myself I wouldn’t look but I allowed myself to open only one page of the sketchbook. It was covered in my face, imagine that.”

“Fucker, should have kept leafing through it then, would have seen a lot more than that on the opposite end of the notebook.” He grins. He’ll show Kyle all of his drawings eventually. He’ll show him how he sees him and then he’ll ravish him as he pleases because some of the drawings are _raunchy_.

“I always _did_ wonder if you drew your own porn.” Kyle wiggles down and makes a space for himself between Kenny’s knees – knobby and red – that part to make said space readily.

“You get desensitized after a while. There’re only so many videos starring tall redheads and blonde twinks out there.” He laments sadly and Kyle presses a laugh into the crease of his hip and oh, _when did he get there?_ And, oh, _there go his boxer shorts._

“Thought about this often, then?” Kyle nuzzles against the vague shape of his abdominals, licking and biting faintly, distractedly.

“Ky, sweetie,” He croons condescendingly. “You were my sexual awakening.”

“Ew.” Kyle snorts and Kenny swats at his red curls like a distracted cat.

“You about to do something down there or are you gonna start paying rent?” He says instead of continuing the teasing.

“Oh, I’m gonna do something alright. I’m gonna suck your dick, Ken. I’m gonna show you that I don’t seem to have a gag reflex and then I’m not even gonna let you come like that.” Kyle threatens, voice lowering more and more. Kenny feels fire in his veins, he feels like his entire body is being enveloped from the outside while burning up from the inside at the same time.

The redhead grips his thigh with one hand and the other wraps around his dick and Kenny is pretty sure that the _finally_ that he thinks, he says out loud as well. The redhead starts slow but almost too soon, he’s being swallowed down by an eager mouth. The stretch of the lips around his dick is obscene and better than anything he’s ever drawn. They’re red and Kyle's freckles dance as his jaw works to accommodate the stretch. The redhead tilts forward and tenses his throat around Kenny’s length, opening up so that he can slide further in.

“Fuck – fucking hell!” He groans out loudly, panting as Kyle starts bobbing up and down. “God, Ky, gonna fuck your throat so hard one of these days. Gonna shut that smart mouth up.” He announces and Kyle moans, the vibrations running up his length, making his balls tighten. Or maybe that’s Kyle's other hand that’s now fondling them and pressing up against that sensitive spot behind them. He whines and trashes faintly, already almost on the verge of orgasm. Not like anyone can blame him. It’s been long enough and this is _Kyle, sucking his dick._  

“Ky, baby, you’re too good at this, fuck!” He bucks up and Kyle takes it without a problem, without any resistance. Oh, Kenny is going to have so much fun with this one of these days.

“Good to know, considering I’ve only ever done this twice.” Kyle says and _god,_ he’s breathless and his voice is raspy and it sends shivers up Kenny’s spine.

“I must be b-biased, then. Fuck.” He arches his back as Kyle presses a dry finger against his hole. “Ky.” He warns lightly and Kyle bites his lip to suppress a laugh.

“Not into the whole dry-fucking shtick?” Kyle leans back to take off his own underwear and Kenny whines. He has to grip himself around the base with one hand while the other fumbles for where Kyle had left the lube and the condom.

“Do you usually talk this much during sex? In my experiences we would have already be done and cuddling by this point.” He sits up and patiently waits for Kyle to return to the bed, gloriously naked.

“That fast, Ken?” The redhead sounds disappointed and Kenny hisses at him like a wounded animal, shooting forward with both hands and wrapping them about the leaking length of Kyle's cut dick. The other has to steady himself on Kenny’s shoulders as the arousal sweeps him off his feet.

“Fuck – _fuck.”_ Kyle pants, hips thrusting into the circle of Kenny’s fingers. He watches the muscles of the other’s abdomen work like a well-oiled machine, contracting and spasming with each feeble thrust.

“Ken – c’mon, gonna prep you.” Kyle presses his forehead against his and Kenny’s immediate response is to kiss him. For one hot second he can taste himself and he thinks _this is it, I’m gonna come like I’m thirteen jacking it to bad gay porn online._

“On your front,” Kyle instructs and Kenny is very reluctant to let go of his dick.

After a moment of contemplation, he relinquishes his hold and scrambles to turn around. He starts on his hands and knees but Kyle presses him down and slides a pillow under his hips to keep his ass raised.

“Perky,” Kyle hums and Kenny wiggles in his position, please when it elicits a laugh out of the redhead.

He’s never really – well, he’s done this before. But, on his own, to himself. Nobody else has ever really – aside from Bebe offering that one time – been interested in having him on the bottom. He was always confident and people assumed he liked to be in charge. And he does. But this is Kyle, _his_ Kyle. And his Kyle was a controlling and petty bitch and he loves him despite it.

Kyle is meticulous in his prepping, focused and driven and _thorough._ Kenny might be crying from the stimulation by the time Kyle has three long, _long_ fingers in him, thrusting insistently and avoiding his sweet spot.

“Please, Ky, come on, just – dick me down like a man why are you pussyfooting!!?” He smacks his fist against the bed and it bounces, ineffective. He whines and writhes and _pleads_ but Kyle is having none of that.

“Let me enjoy the damn sights, Ken, I haven’t seen your legs or ass since you had that stupid skirt on.” Kyle grips the globes of his ass and _kneads_. He shudders under the pressure, dick achingly hard and twitching. Kyle has a surprising amount of patience for someone who’s a horny barely-legal.

“Liked the kilt, huh?” He struggles to his knees and bats away Kyle's hands. He shoves the pillow out of the way and drops down onto his back so that he can see the redhead.

“You know I did.” Kyle says, oddly bashful and averting his gaze. Ah, it was easy to be confident when Kenny wasn’t eying him up apparently. It’s endearing.

“We’ll revisit that sometime, then.” He winks and throws the foil packet at the other. “C’mon, wrap it up, loverboy.”

“Jesus, you’re gonna get my dick soft.” Kyle laughs but tears at the foil and rolls the condom on with clinical precision that makes Kenny laugh on the inside.

They lock eyes and one of Kyle's hands – the, ugh, lubed one – twines with his. The redhead’s eyes are wild and brimming with affection that’s somehow winning despite lust being present there as well. His freckles are stars and Kenny is so utterly smitten he loses all coherent thoughts that had tried to form. Kyle guides himself in with his other hand and Kenny does his best to relax. He remembers to breathe, takes all the advice he’s ever given others and puts it into practice.

From the moment Kyle bottoms out it’s a race to the finish. They’re uncoordinated but enthusiastic and Kyle's hips slam against his ass and Kenny _wails_ at one point. He prays to whoever is listening that no one’s home aside from them.

His hands flit over every part of Kyle he can reach, not settling on any one spot for too long. Kyle continues his biting tirade, hands firm and possessive and Kenny revels in all of it. In the creaking of the mattress, in the sweat sliding down Kyle's back, in the sound of their skin slapping together. It’s shitty and over too fast but it’s so perfect and they’ll have so much more time for practice now that they’ve gotten their heads out of their asses.

“Gonna – fuck.” Kyle throws his head back and Kenny drags him down, brushes back his curls, and kisses the life out of him. Everything is so bright behind his closed eyelids and he only opens his eyes to see Kyle climax. The redhead’s face slackens and his brows furrow, a moan leaving his throat and punching Kenny straight into the gut.

He follows as soon as Kyle's teeth clamp over the juncture of his neck and the redhead’s hand closes around his dick, thumbing at the slit. He whites out and for one terrifying moment he thinks that his heart has stopped. _This would be an extremely shitty time to die,_ he thinks absently as Kyle collapses on top of him.

“That fast, Kyle?” He throws the words right back at the redhead and Kyle smacks his arm as he slowly pulls out.

Thankfully, nobody else _is_ home. They’re away visiting Ike at some genius camp that he’s been at for two weeks already. They shower together, brush their teeth side by side because Kenny’s travel toothbrush is still in Kyle's backpack. They get dressed and Kyle smiles at him when Kenny chooses to wear one of Kyle's South Park High hoodies.

Kyle changes the sheets and they get under the new covers. For the first time since they were kids, Kenny willingly lets the redhead cling to him. Nothing to hide anymore, nothing to avoid. All cards on the table, the game’s done. And for once, Kenny is glad. He’d managed to do his play without any major losses, managed to actually win for once.

“Night, Ken, love you.” Kyle buries his nose into the nape of his neck and Kenny hums, closing his eyes.  

 “Sweet dreams, Ky, love you, too.” He mumbles and places a kiss on Kyle's knuckles.

* * *

"You have _how_ much money on the card!?” Kyle screeches and Kenny shushes him so that they don’t draw the attention of the other’s waiting in line for the ATM. Kyle stares at the plastic black card in Kenny’s hold like he’s staring at a treasure and Kenny grins.

“You heard me, around 150K.” He pockets the card and Kyle is still a little dumbfounded.

“What does that mean?” Kyle asks, voice hushed.

“Means we’re moving in together wherever you decide to go to college and that the people of the Spanish government are _very_ generous.” He pats the other’s shoulder and laces their fingers together.

“Are – are you gonna work with them again?” Kyle asks, dubious, gripping his hand a little too-firmly.

“I don’t know. Maybe, if the times get tough. But – I thought about trying art for now. Get myself some good supplies with the cash and maybe start doing concept art and commissions and stuff.” He says honestly. Because that kind of money is hard to come by and it won’t last them very long if he intends to transfer half of it into his _Karen’s College Tuition_ fund.

“Good, you should get to do what you love.” Kyle kisses his cheek and somewhere off to the side, Clyde gags loudly.

“Don’t I get to do you regularly?” He wiggles his eyebrows and a chorus of groans welcomes them as they rejoin their friends at the food cart adjacent benches.

“God, they’re even worse than Stan and Butters were in the beginning.” Craig laments mournfully.

“Please, this is barely different than how they were before.” Bebe points out and shoves a couple of fries into her mouth, smiling at them cheerfully.

“Y’all’re just jealous.” Kenny sticks out his tongue in the general direction of all of them.

“If anything, we’re all relieved.” Token says after a loud slurp of his milkshake.

“Yeah.” Kyle tugs him into a one-armed hug, “Me too.”

“Gay.” Kenny barks out before kissing Kyle right in front of everyone and spoiling their lunches if the protests are any indication.      

**Author's Note:**

> Hmu  
> On twt @ marionettefthjm or bakugoner_  
> [tumblr at marionettefthjm](https://marionettefthjm.tumblr.com/post/184651085025/ive-been-writing-this-dang-roadtrip-fic-for-a-few) where i did some art


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